Table for One

table for thirteen

. . .

it's not just that you're dead

04.22.2021

. . .

It's not just that you're dead.

It's that you can't grow up .

That you can't fall in love.

Or get married.

Or have kids.

It's that you can't go to college.

That we can't be roommates, in a dorm together.

Or stay up late studying with me.

Or drink coffee the mornings after.

It's that you can't get a job.

That we can't carpool.

Or be happy to when we get promotions.

Or take a sick day, when we're not actually sick.

It's that you can't pick up your phone.

That even if I have the best news, you can't.

Or if I have terrible news.

Or if no one could cheer me up except you.

It's your life has been snatched away.

That you can't dream big dreams.

Or watch them come true.

It's that you can't come over to my house on Friday and convince our moms to let us have a sleepover and we spend the night giggling and using the karaoke machine.

That you can't make funny faces to make me laugh while brushing your teeth in the morning before your mom comes to pick you up.

Or wake me up in the middle of the night and prank me that the sky is falling or the moon has turned green.

Or pouring too much syrup on your pancakes and making me laugh by calling it a river.

It's not just that you're dead.

It's that you're gone.