Message Seen

Message seen 3:04 am, September 15.

Hey I've been waiting for you to reply a while now.

I know you're gone and everything, but you can't just not reply you know? I always wondered what you would send back. A witty comeback, or a YouTube link, maybe some reaction picture you found on Tumblr. It never really bothered me that it was the last thing I said to you. "You're a geek." was our I love you. But I still stare at it wondering what else I could have said, because you died not knowing that the ugly world that killed you was so much more beautiful with you in it.

I couldn't say that, though because you would have brushed it off, just like every other compliment I gave you, you would have treated it like a virus. Cold, and sickening, something that makes you forget what it's like to be well in the first place. "Because," you said "compliments remind me of everything I wish I could be for you." You never let me explain that you already were the beauty you tried so hard to emulate. Well I guess you weren't.

You were a different kind. Your hair stuck off your head like a runaway train, and your eyes never stopped searching for an answer, or better yet, a question, and your fingers traced galaxies into my skin every time we were together. You were the kind of beautiful the movies aren't allowed to show, for fear that we will begin to love ourselves.

I wish I could have said that.

But still I'm reading "Message seen 3:04 am, September 15." well it's 12:10 am on a Tuesday morning and I'm finally going to tell you how I feel.

This poem is about: 
Me

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