do you remember?

i'm finding it hard to write about anything. recently i've been carrying this feeling in my chest where my stomcach hurts and god is really real and he's kind enough to let me have you because i've never loved anyone else with so much purpose. i've never had big goals for myself ever, but i always wanted to adopt a cat again, and if my life ever makes it that far i wouldn't have to since you're kinda allergic.

at night i wish you were next to me. i would hold you and try to make you laugh so i could see the way you smile and how all your teeth would be exposed. i'd say your name so i could hear the way you say mine back softly. i'd hope i could feel your body heat and recognize the feeling.

i wrote songs about you too, i learned how to sing and taught myself guitar so that i could sing them to you. the words sounded pretty in my head and that morning we were soaked by rain. i saw your hair curl up and i was freezing next to you, ignoring that you were someone to someone. i was touching your hair and realizing this is the first time i felt it, and so i write this now acknowledging that you'll never connect the dots. i never said your name.

i remember how it felt wanting to die. you had the nerve to tell me i was wrong. still avoiding the blade and substances and then searching up painless ways to go. clearly i didn't want it enough because sinking my nails deep into my forearms, i closed my eyes waiting for the blood to surface, and the red never came because your fingernails scratch and don't kill. you don't want it enough and sadness is not the same as suicide. no one will take you seriously.

but aside from all of me that is you, i carry other broken things. 

dad, could you sing me happy birthday? we could change the way i turned thirteen. you'd skip out on cake but i wouldn't cry my eyes out. i wouldn't have to see my mom's face, where it's obvious she feels sorry for me. you used to defend me against her but i think you think there's something wrong with me too. dad, i'm sorry that i couldn't stay five years old forever. dad, you wouldn't understand half of the words i write. can i still talk to you as if you did?