I write something every day.
I don’t say it is about you, but it
Usually is. One way or another,
It usually is. I write now because
Writing is who I am now. It is the only
Thing I know how to do. It is what
I do because you are not here.
I hope you don’t think this is selfish
Or somehow I should have written
More before. I would have written more
But I could not. You were here.
I don’t write to forget.
I write to remember, but
Remembering makes me hurt and
I wonder if you can see me or
Hear me now. I was raised all my
Life to believe that in death you are
Only sleeping, that you know nothing.
But when I sleep, I dream. I know I
Dream of something, though I don’t
Remember what it is I dream
Perhaps you dream of me?