Days

I’m silent when she tells me.
Days? Days?
No. No. 
No, it was supposed to be  
months. 

She asks me if I’m okay,
and I nod my head—
a default response. 

But of course I’m not okay. 

My heart feels like bursting into flames. 
My throat feels tight and clogged. 
My hands are sweating. 

Days. 
Days. 

I only have days left with 
you?

After she’s done telling me, 
I go to my room.
I go to my room and sit down,
my back against my bed. 

I tilt my head up,
staring at the ceiling. 

And I cry. 

I cry alone,
and I’m alone. 
Why am I always alone?

I cry for you,
I cry for my pain,
I cry for the thought 
that you might not be here
in the coming days. 
I miss you already. 
I want to be with you
for as long as I can. 
I cry for my grandpa,
for his loneliness and heartbreak. 
I cry for my uncles, 
for their shock.
I cry for my mom, 
for her love and grief. 
I cry for myself,
for my own loneliness 
and heartbreak
and shock
and love
and grief
and bitter pain. 

I knew this would come.
I knew it would happen. 
I knew that you'd leave us.

But days. 

Days.