Trouble is, I haven't been able to deal with your death because you gave me too much time to prepare for it.

Trouble is, it felt like you died so many times I'd begun to think you never would. And I called your number a few times after you died, holding my breath.

Trouble is, I miss you so much, some ways even more than I miss Dad, and I know this would surprise you because it also surprises me - and it's one of my biggest regrets.

Trouble is, even though you broke my heart endless times and the thought of spending one more night at your bedside probably would've made me insane, I still would have been there.

And the real trouble is, the one time I tried to think of myself first and didn't rush over to get you to the hospital when I heard it in your voice, you died. The one time.

Trouble is.

We run together
Hands almost touching
Florescent lights shine
Exposing shadows on the wall
As we glide past each moment
Oblivious of our velocity
With our hands almost touching
Almost

Your home is not here
Not with me
Not now.
You belong in that world
From the storybooks I would read to you
– Of pixies and wizards
That save little children
From any ill fate.
You belong in my dreams
My soul
My imagination
But not my world.
I could not save you
But maybe the pixies can.