Dear you know who you are

Entry #1

Sometimes missing you makes me

really hate Target

And it sucks to hate Target because Target is

well, pretty awesome.

But it looks identical everywhere in the world

So, the one here looks like the one we used to

shop in for your clothes and stuff…

A parallel universe of which I am

abruptly confronted

of red and white, shiny consumerism.

And it’s like I’m still there with you

except without you

haunted by a mundane shopping experience

that makes me feel where the scars are.

Remember when we wanted to run away?

Hide?

Wear only pastels and preppy clothes

so no one would recognize us?

I wish we had done that.

I wish…

Entry #2

There’s something we used to say all the time

before you left again on Fridays…

In the 4-Runner

on the way to the McDonald’s parking lot

(I kinda hate that parking lot now)

Do you remember it? I think about it sometimes

Okay a lot and it haunts me

in a way I crave to stay

though it hurts right down to the bone

marrow.

It went like this:

Me: “Now remember, if you’re thinking about me, then

I’m thinking about you. Cause’ I’m thinking about

you when?”

You (rolling your eyes): “All the time.”

It’s still true. I need you to know that.

I’m glad I made you repeat it until you

hated it, maybe not me?

I had to write this because

honestly

what’s the freaking point

in a platform unless

I use it to talk to you?

Entry #3

Yesterday… it was Easter so naturally

I thought about Ignite and when we were at church together

How we were alone in the world

No father figure except God

And how the photo booth kinda wrecked us.

It was a hard time and I didn’t know

that you were almost gone.

I keep surrendering the pain

I keep holding on to hope

I keep pretending like not that much time has passed

I keep asking God why and people ask me, “Any word yet?”

I say, “No.” I think people get tired of that and

I get ill with saying it so much.

I’m getting rid of that awful pink sweater

from our Easter photo.

I’ll never delete the photo though.

I prayed for you

to come home.

Entry #4

A colorful quilt

under the green tree canopy

in the front yard, when you were a baby

You were learning to walk

in the summer sunlight, it didn’t take long

until you were running away

those little chubby legs out beyond the bounds

of the safety of the tree…

“Come back,” I’d yell, then

you’d mock me laughing, “come back”

and run away again until I chased you.

It’s not so different now, there’s more

time and distance

more prayers in between.