1:33am

i wish i could tell a friend
about the night i spent
with the boy who will never love me.
how i couldn't help myself
because i just missed the feeling
of a warm body,
a soft mouth.
i'd hoped he'd at least pretend
that being with me again
felt like going back to a place
you once called home.
but kissing me,
all he really cared about was
knowing whether or not he should reach for a condom.
it reminded me of a conversation i recently had with a crude boy.
he'd dated a mutual friend.
'though it wasn't really a relationship,' he said,
'we made out a few times and then she got weird. it's not like we had sex or anything.'
it's not like we had sex.

i wish i could tell a friend
that the closest person i've ever had to a father,
is forgetting absolutely everything.
it's become difficult for us to have conversations
so all i can do is hug him and hold him
and tell him how much i love him
because, at some point,
when words fail,
you hold his hand,
kiss the top of his white head of hair,
and realize that maybe love is the only language we ever truly understand.
(my heart breaks because he stands right in front of me and yet i already miss him.
my heart breaks because my grandmother misses him too).

but friends aren't here to listen,
so for now,
writing this all down will have to do.