a boy, A Man

I miss him

Nothing reminds me of him because I don't allow it to

Both of those things can be true at once

He would be proud of me, probably, but I guess he would probably also have a lot to say

Both of those things can be true at once

I am writing about him like he's dead, and he is

Dead and alive, dead or alive, he holds a space in my brain that feels like a haunting

Both of those things can be true at once

He's no longer the same, to me

I doubt he ever will be

And for that, I am both glad, and of course

I 

   am

         afraid (?)

Both of those things can be true at once

The words stack on each other that way because that's how it feels to love him

Treacherous

I am protective of who he is

Because of who he was

I hate him

I love him

Both of those things can be true at once