that song. that song which is–was–our song. the one you once played when we hung out and then randomly came up in my spotify the day you left. i don’t care if ariana sang it to perfection or the nor’easters did. it’s not poetic. it’s just sad.
poets. wordsworth, dickinson, shakespeare, you, me. all of them. all of us. not poetic. not poetry. take our hearts out and examine them–still not poetic. their pain–our pain–is. we aren’t.
you. that red shirt you were wearing with your signature flip-flops is poetic. that sticker artwork you made was poetic. you aren’t. poems stay–you didn’t.