Unliked
I remember looking up at your ceiling from your bed.
Turning my head I could see your numerous band posters that papered your wall.
I turn my head the other way discovering you’re gone.
I get up to explore and quickly find you in the kitchen.
Your house wasn’t that big.
That black tank top, I might remember it for years to come.
I remember it well on you.
You were painting black ghosts in your picture.
I remember it was dark. The painting.
Most of what you created was awkward or cute.
You didn’t mind me distracting you too much.
Your family was out to the beach and you stayed home to finish your painting.
I knew you would end up working on it eventually.
I wasn’t your only project.
We were still in that transitional period where nobody knew.
We had the world to ourselves with space to spare.
You were so small and fragile.
I cared for you that day
and that memory pains me still today.
I can’t talk to you. I never will.
I won’t.
I don’t know what to say.
No words can live up to the minds expectations.
Keep thinking I’m a bastard
I’ll still think you’re a bitch.
We’ll be happy in the end.