I never understood why you held so many secrets in your closed hands and only fluttered them open when our backs were turned to the walls. Walls can’t reflect the fragile heart we don’t see.
I never understood why you hurt so much, blood on the floor, vomit covering your brittle fingertips and the sweaty handprints trailing up through your bed to the ceiling attempting to rip holes from the paper box you’ve been placed in. When will you realise that your bones are already coated in the acid falling from your eyes? Let go. When will you go to sleep?
I never understood how you could smile, like you meant it... Until I saw you placing cigarettes of weed to your lips, you told me it’s the best way to light up a stapled grin. And you made me promise not to let the smoke burn through my words. I’ve been silent for three months now. Because words hurt more than being quiet- some things can’t be said.
I never understood the time you asked me if I would be crying at your funeral. You asked if I would always love you, even when you were Gone. You asked me if I would live your life for you. Like the next day was your last.
I never understood why you gave up your dreams so fast. I remember sitting on the third step of the staircase listening to you play the piano, hearing you sing those words while our mother packed your belongings for the hospital. You said you wanted to try dreaming, living. Just one more time.
I never understood why you hid away, even though you always wanted to see the sun. You said it made you feel like a stronger person when you could see some light. But you couldn’t see yourself as pretty enough without hair extensions and makeup, like the other girls. But that’s not you.
I never understood the pressure you went through. I never understood your words. I never understood your tears. I never understood your hope. I never understood you.
But I know how far away heaven is.