A poem I wrote for my friend who died by suicide almost two years ago, after his girlfriend did the same.
Some days you still come back to me,
Suddenly and unannounced, you are here.
If you were alive, I would see you less often,
Leaving strengthens loving, or so it seems,
In my little world you still breathe and move,
Laugh and feel and live fully like you could,
Don’t worry, you haven’t lost her, she is here too,
Only happier: what you wished is now, here you reside,
For who says that fantasy has less meaning than life,
I meet you where we worked, maybe I’ll come back too,
It’s okay; it’s not the real world, we can do so much,
You’ll finish school and maybe get married,
Have kids and raise them with all the love you had,
While you and friends still play the piano at the station hall:
Comptine d’un autre été, the seasons twirl around,
I hope you don’t mind. I just want to watch you grow old.
You move, breathe, smile; you can do almost anything, but,
You don’t talk much anymore now. I am sorry, I’d let you,
It’s just that I am forgetting the sound of your voice.