I sent you a text.

"Hey."

"Hey there :)"

"How are you?"

"Same shit, different day. You?"

"Same. I miss you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you.."

"You know this is Julia, right?"

"Where is Jamie?"

"Oh... He killed himself, hun."

"what?"

No answer.

"No. nonono. no."

No answer.

"this isnt funny"

No answer.

"please be joking. please?"

No answer.

"this isnt happening"

"Look. I wish this wasn't real, but it is. I'm sorry."

'im sorry too."

"Sorry you had to find out this way."


I never wrote a poem about you
because I was so sure
that you would never
leave.

I thought I would have years
to write something beautiful,
something wonderful,
something that described you.

I didn't even know,
that you took your life
last September
because it was too much.

I didn't even know,
that you were so sad
and that I should have been there
to help you.

I don't even know
why we ever stopped talking.
I really miss you
and it hurts to know you're gone.

I stop and think now
that when I wish I could call you
you won't answer, and that girl,
Julia, will.

I stop and think now
what I could have said,
what I could have done,
that could have kept you here.

I'm going to miss your
glasses and how you would
adjust them when you
talked.

I'm already missing
the idea that I could
text you when I was
sad.

I'm already missing
you.