I’m sorry, but… don’t say what I think you’re going to say; you know how I get when I ditch my meds and opt for arguments about our semantics; we still have fun together though, right? you kissed me the other night and said [inside joke] and we laughed and laughed; you remember, right? I woke up this morning and noticed that your collection of Frank O’Hara poems—your favorite—was missing from the bookshelf; I wish I could be sharing a coke with you right now; you only drink water though, and I drink whatever I can find; we work like that, don’t we? you are what I lack; I lack [ ] and [ ]; don’t say what I think you’re going to say; where do you go when I can’t see you? sometimes I remember what it was like to be five and to stare into the sun until my eyesight dimmed a bit; I feel that way when you aren’t around—when I only have your possessions to remember you by: the bed with no frame which we sleep on; your cheap IKEA desk covered with environmental non-fiction and blue pens; every single post card I’ve ever sent you; that poster of Rocky Balboa; [ !!!! ]; I’m going through your bookshelf now; I dropped the letter you left on the desk; what did it say, again? I’m sorry, but…; why did you take the Frank O’Hara book? don’t say what I think you’re going to say, don’t; there is still so much for me to appreciate; look, there’s that polaroid taped above your desk; that was the day we first met, you came into [ ] carrying a huge box of gummy bears, I just had to take a picture with you; I’m sorry, but…; no; don’t say it, please don’t say it; I’m not ready.
