You’re always the only thing I can write about during this time of year. It always seems like, if I don’t do it, if I don’t twist myself into anchor knots for at least three weeks at the beginning of September, I’m not giving you the type of memory, the type of recognition you deserve. So I tie myself up and let them try to unravel me without just cause. This is a stand. A vigil. Im memoriam.


While the rest of the world moves on, I sit and I ponder and I see your face everywhere. Loathe and all as I am to admit it, see your feet dangling from the branches of trees outside my house. The memories I have of you keep my heart like a stopwatch. I remember, skip a beat, then exhale into days  when we would run through the woods singing childish songs. Days when we would fight over gates and locks and bolts and ribbons that now adorn my wall.


Life changes and moves too fast and dinner tables are the most unfriendliest place in the world during this time of year.


It happened again, for the second time in a row and I’m left wondering if it’s become habit. I should give up eating for the first three weeks of September it seems. I don’t know why it always strikes me then. Probably because I see people doing normal everyday things, when my world stopped dead on its axis, yet I know that you’re happier now. You tell me every year as I crunch my way through brown leaves and chalk drawn hearts. Happy. Happy. Happy. Free - and I’ll never question.


This is a stand. A vigil. A requiem.


I remember back before the past tenses, when life experiences stained our hands and I remember the way her knees shook and I fell forward when we heard. I was just after coming home from school. The house was too clean and the lights were too bright for September. It was cold outside and she was sitting at our kitchen table, worn and grey and not at all like the woman I remembered. They told me to sit, but I wouldn’t. They told me to move, to take off the bag, but I wouldn’t. I knew what was coming. I expected. I said your name and a tear snaked its way down my cheek. I don’t remember anything else. I just remember the sharp, harsh kiss of the kitchen floor as it came up to meet me and my stomach churned. I can still feel the bruises on my knees.


This is a stand. A vigil. The mic test of my heart.


One. Two.
One. Two.



One. imissyou. Two.



------