If you see her...

We carried guilt, folded up
And buried in our closet,
in the shoebox where we kept
Our letters, which were never
Signed 'love' because we
Never wanted to be that vulnerable
Or that taken for granted.
I kept your pictures folded
Into tiny little squares,
Inside a seashell, held up
To my breath like a bullhorn
Calling for last hope.
I tried to bury you..
But I always double back to
Sketch your gravestone and
Pretend you're not lost,
and pretend I'm not lost too.
The things we carried
Are hyphenated and split into
Poised corners of mistrust and
Remembrance, daring our
rigid lips to open up and
say something true.
Truthfully, I never wanted to need you
I never wanted to breathe you in
and use you as my balance beam
when nothing felt like Justice
I didn't want you to hold my hand
and tell me I would never stop writing
There were so many nights when I
drew the letters they laid on top of you
and hoped that they would
reassemble into something more
beautiful. They never did.
So now I carry this rugged note
that only says your name
over and over again
like I'm holding my breath
and dying to wish it true.