I went to the cemetery today to find you, but I never
found you.
I found your sister, who isn’t even dead yet
I found your father, who died old
But you, I couldn’t find you.
You shouldn’t even be in that cemetery anyway
You should be here
(but I guess if you were here, I probably wouldn’t be
here).
Maybe I didn’t want to find you, though, because it
all would come crashing back to me:
The way I watched the life dwindle from your body
How I didn’t know what to say
How we were never that close
How I was going through a rough time myself when you
died.
I don’t want to recall this pain. And I sure as hell
don’t want to think about my own mortality.
Nonetheless
You are in that
cemetery, somewhere, hopefully resting (and not roaming) until I find you.