APRIL 21
I wanted to talk to you while you lie dead on the coffin.
But there wasn't a sentence that could completely capture the essence of what was meant to mean "I'm sorry I didn't save you" and "Please don't go" and "I miss you" and "I'm sorry I didn't stop you from hanging from your closet" and "I'm sorry I didn't message you that day when I heard you talk about your depression" and "Please come back to us" and "Breathe, please, look at me" and-
I wasn't sure you'd hear me anyway.
So, I didn't speak.
APRIL 22
After the service was held I went back to that room and thought about looking at you one last time. For closure, for goodbye.
But I didn't because I knew that looking at your corpse wasn't going to make me let go.
I wasn't done with you because I couldn't.
Now you're just a memory. And I'm sorry I didn't do anything to prevent it.
YOU ARE READING
Brain
PoesíaA glimpse of what happens in my head. It is a bilingual (spanish/english) book; some poems will be in english, others in spanish.
