the psalm of a closing ceremony

aka a song for...

You forgot to text me—remember you said you would after Maija’s birthday party?

Like how you forgot to text me after the bookstore, or about the Odesza concert. Funny because you remembered me when I stopped crying and met someone new,

and when I was happy and sexy and vibrant and dancing—

and you were sad about your dad and his Australian wife.

Now I’m the one who remembers you, lately so much. In my dreams, when I see couples in pubs, watching hockey games, and those damn Patriots. I see them and think

if only.

If only I had been flowers and softness and muted and only small-sad,

but instead I was lava and running (always RUNNING) and tidal waves and busted lips and broken wine bottles and cracked shoes I’d throw at you because I could see your eyes

shutting and blinded by my starlike grief.

So for you, I see the shelter you found in breezy blondes. What refuge.

Today, I hope you found someone who is light and soft to hold and to land on

because I am made of cathedrals and orbits.

Okay, now, I see it all. A flash of my passion and your container. Your sweet hazel eyes and that Boston-boy jacket. For a minute, you LOOKED straight into my SUN. Oh wow, did you! And in that, I knew I could be adored. Nothing was impossible.

But maybe that’s just it. We were always two planets, their stars, their moons—too many gravities and too little space.

So then we collided. Pieces of me went flying, and you kicked some away, swallowed the rest into your rings.

Well, if anything. Thank you for showing me that love does exist.

But there must be a Universe, a place where I don’t need to BURN and combust, just to be someone’s light.

And to me: I hope you see that you are the Moon, swirling across galaxies of love.

You have always been this, sweet girl! You have always been tides and tides and depths and depth, but also little lapping pools in the sand.

It was never your fault that neither of you could surf.

Someone will see you and paddle straight into you. Someone will see you and want to swim within you.

I stretch across the horizons, and I find peace.

That song with your name, the one you showed me still drifts across my Spotify. That was you—the one who showed me how to float.

Thank you. For everything.

(a song for Jack)