we left memories here to die,

but i still remember the night

you told me about your mother,

about your birthday last year,

about the day your dog died.

the violence had already started

when you opened your mouth.

every wound was just as fresh

as the day i died.

but you—

you were so human to me

in those moments you acted as a nuisance.

and maybe your mom was right,

because you haven’t done anything new since.

nothing lasts forever

and i hope that’s true.

i was so young when you grew,

but when i close my eyes i can almost

see the top of your head.

when i close my eyes,

here i am.

you’ve found me.

in the bathroom that night you stood

taller than me

(even with my eyes closed,

i saw you looking down.)

there i sat, with my head in my hands

on the cold tile,

and the chill of you looming over me.

i was human then, too,

if you didn’t notice.