You wrote me love notes
In your purple scrawl
That only I could read.
Your words so well-crafted,
You gave me the book, The Giving Tree.
And inside the front cover you wrote,
“I hope to be your giving tree.”
A wish so vulnerable,
You told me I was beautiful,
That my face was like the moon,
Despite my sense that I was just fat
You never cared about my weight
Or my hairstyle,
Or what shoes I wore.
Always thought I was beautiful
That was one of your gifts to me.
At the birth of our daughter
You quoted someone saying that
“My heart grew an extra chamber”
And that you wished you had thought of it first.
But the sentiment remained.
Ties were cut.
We all suffered.
We rewove our lives together.
Remembered our love for each other
Remembered that we are family
That we are best friends,
Confidants, parents, cheerleaders,
Unapologetically in each other’s lives.
You were shot.
On September 17, 2012.
I look at your picture
A relic of stopped time.
You never wanted to get older anyway.
Never wanted another year to pass.
Never wanted to acknowledge
That I was almost a year younger.
In fact, you always celebrated the two weeks
When we were the same age.
That I had “caught up.”
I am older
and grow older still