I hope you're well.
I hope you're smiling and
you have everything
you
need.

There is no harm in that.

There were friendly faces everywhere
and you were always so pretty in the sun.

You had young skin
and bright eyes
and notebooks spilled out of every corner
and drawer
of your small rented
room.

There were pens and pencils,
some colored,
and there was music
and orgasms and
promises.

But the sun kept passing by
and the passage of time,
unabated,
made us cautious and
practical.

So we settled at the first opportunity
because death
is so hard to face
if no one cares that
you were
there.