Your Loss- A Poem and A Goodbye

Your Loss

You’ll never know how much I hated Italy

the first day I was there.

Stomach and heartsick to the core,

my sister and her friend smiling

whilst I was alone

by your design.

I’ll never tell you that I begged my mother

to take me to the leather market

in Florence to get you a sketchbook.

A small token of my trip, a reminder

of what you missed, hand-picked by me.

You’ll never know that the same book

lays discarded under my desk at home,

in the corner where I’ll never have to see it.

And that one day,

I’ll make beautiful art in it.

I’ll never talk to you about Star Wars

or Squishmallows or Pedro Pascal.

Because you never realized that my love language

is ranting passionately about things I love,

the warm embrace of a listening ear.

You’ll never know how much I needed help

even when you told me that I was lucky

again and again and again

and again and again

and again.

I’ll never be able to give you a genuine smile,

the one I learned after you left,

after years of having to realize that I was the one

who had to save me, that I had to believe I was 

worth saving.

You’ll never get a signed copy of my poetry,

or a dedication in my book.

And you might weasel your way into my words,

but I’ll never make them beautiful for you.

I’ll be honest about the hurt.

I’ll never be at your wedding if one day

you find someone who can save you.

And you’ll never be invited to mine

even though we both promised 

standing roles by each other’s side.

You’ll never set foot in my apartment,

with its many baubles and posters,

my love and happiness everywhere.

You could never belong in a space

that’s so fundamentally mine.

I’ll never make you a cup of tea,

earl grey with a scoop of sugar and

oat milk, and smile as I hand it to you,

waiting to see your face at the first sip,

my favorite mug in your hands.

You’ll never know that the day

you stopped being my friend, I swear

I felt the string snap between us,

how I felt the air leave my lungs,

the sky darkened.

I’ll never tell you what you missed

because at the end of the day,

you chose her instead.

You chose to travel to

New Orleans instead of Rome.

• exbest friend
• ghosted
• goodbyes
• loss
• poem
• poetry