How easy it is,

pretending to move on.

The rapid passage of life

and time fools us all into

believing that it doesn’t hurt


until one morning three years

later I awaken from a dream

of a funeral I was never able

attend and the edges of

my heartstrings sit a little

too raw, a little too sore and

somehow still feeling a little too

young for a girl to lose her


As I sit on the precipice of

a life that you would’ve been

so proud of,

I somehow feel ashamed to have

never been able to show it to you.

I sit waiting for degrees to be finished

and the next ones to start, terms to end

and jobs to begin, luxuriating in the

inevitability if it all, but I will be

waiting to hear how proud of me you

are until the very end of time

because as ever,

time moved too fast for gratitude, and

who isn’t ever gone too soon, if not you.


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