For Jeff

I don't write poetry,
but you did,
even though you said that you didn't,
or that it wasn't very good,
so I wanted to write a poem to you. 
I want a poem that illustrates the moon
and what it meant to you
and to me
and for us. 
I want to write something that captures your struggle,
but also shows your strength
and the fault
of others. 
This poem would be short,
it wouldn't rhyme,
because we're not kids anymore. 
If we were kids,
you'd probably still be here. 
The trouble is,
I can't write poetry. 
I'd go on for too long about how you had a playlist about me
and how you loved me
even though I didn't deserve it,
even when I didn't deserve it. 
How you loved so fiercely
and how much I was afraid
of letting you down. 
I'd write about how you slept with my dog
that night I passed out on the couch
after too much wine
and not enough bonfire. 
How you just let him sleep with you
like it was something that you'd do
for the rest
I'd have to mention tattoos,
and stealing volcanoes,
and marrying you at thirty-
that would have been five years away. 
But that would only last so long
before I'd write about my shame. 
How you loved me so much
and how I was afraid of it
so I needed space. 
A space that was two months
of no talking,
no communication. 
A space that is no longer measured in time,
but in feet. 
Six feet. 
Tears on the paper,
blurring the words,
the ink,
my guilt. 
If only I'd called. 
If only I'd realized. 
If only. 
If only. 
But we're not kids anymore. 
I realize that I can't write poetry and I can't bring you back. 
I realize that you're gone. 
Six feet.

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