confessions.

i have a confession to make - 

i sleep with your old t-shirt tucked under my pillow. 

the one they had to cut the back of, 

so that the nurses could change your shirts easier. 

you'd probably laugh at me, 

tell me to pick a better shirt to hold on to,

but this one was the last shirt you wore when you could still speak.

and the memory is worth clutching torn fabric for. 

i have a white-knuckle grip on something

that will never bring you back, 

but at least i can hold onto a memory.

someone has to, or everything will be lost. 

i replay our last real conversation in my head all the time.

i stopped wanting to talk to you after that, 

because i found my solace in the goodbyes

and i love yous in those moments, 

and i needed nothing more. 

i doubt you remembered that feeling 

we shared when we were two minutes late

from saying goodbye to your mother. 

i inherited that pain, 

not only from my own experiencing it, 

but from history repeating itself. 

and i think that's what hurts the most. 

being on the edge of the cliff, 

and the rocks crumble under your feet before

you've had the chance to jump yourself. 

there's something utterly unfair about it. 

someone had to be the one who was strong. 

someone needed to be the level-headed one. 

i think i inherited that from you,

although the proper term is probably "emotional-masking."

there are generations of proof that 

we are some pretty stubborn people. 

they mentioned that at your funeral, 

and i wonder if you laughed.

or, did you scowl and say:

"well, someone has to be the level-headed one!"

but looked down, and saw the tears,

and realized that there's only hills and valleys now?

i catch myself wanting to say things.

things like seeing corny dad-pun t-shirts,

then go to say, "oh i should get that shirt for dad!"

only to realize that the best i could do is outfit a gravestone. 

my confession isn't life changing. 

it is, however, proof that my humanness gets in the way sometimes. 

my apathy has been trampled and compelled

to look the other way 

while my empathy threw the sucker punch. 

i didn't know i could cry everyday

and pray the same prayer everyday -

but God hears, He cries too.

but that lucky dude got the one man 

i was dying to dance with

in the white dress

a year from now.

so my confession is,

i've missed you for a long time.

but now that it's set in stone, 

i can officially say i hate finales.