Learning to Live

You asked me, once, if I had ever seen the stars,

back when I only knew city smoke and broken glass.

But who needed stars when I had your eyes glinting from the passenger seat-

your fingertips tracing constellations across my ripped jeans?

You taught me to live in the in-betweens.

In car rides at dawn, belting out your favorite song

(but every song was your favorite, wasn’t it?)

In subway stations at dusk, screaming into the tunnels

(I’m still here... Don’t forget me.)

But how could anyone forget you?

You were the cosmos pressed into a sundress.

You had the stars in your eyes and the world at your feet.

....I should have known better.

There are no stars in the city.

this place choked the light from your soul

until there was nothing left

but an endless void.

you gave me the world.

a world I had given up on.

but when the world gave up on you

I didn’t notice.

And I wonder now

if I should have held your hand tighter

that last time.

Would it have changed anything?