Sweet Poetry

I was told today that my parents want to take me out for lunch sometime next week.

Well, less of they want me to, more of I have to go with them.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents, but I can’t think of anything I’d rather do less. I hate leaving the house now. Scratch that, I hate leaving my bedroom. It’s pathetic.

Well, if all goes to plan, they won’t be able to take me out, except in some weird Weekend at Bernie’s style escapade.

And of course I’ve added all of this to the cumulative message I will send him. I feel like he needs to know this useless bit of trivial info on my life.

I just miss him so much.

Every time I read something funny or think of something that makes me smile, I want to text him and say, “Remember this…?” but there would never be a reply.

He’s gone from my life. And it’s my fault. I accept that blame now, I’m just done thinking what if.

Sometimes I try to think back to when exactly I fucked things up, but it wasn’t sudden. It happened gradually. I see that now.

So here I am writing sweet poetry to him. Maybe he’ll bless my words with his tears one day.