For the living of the dead

A blurred outline
asks for my calculator
in chemistry class.
You were cool, so
my name always sounded
like an insult
in your mouth.

I am sure you grew
into a fine man, I am sure
you were a whole universe
to many people.
So much more than shapes and colors.
And I remember how it feels
to wake up to a person-sized void
in your bedroom and
in your shower and
in your car and
in your heart
and and and.
A person-sized void that is big enough to swallow you
but so small it feels like maybe
you are the only person who’s noticed he’s gone
at all.
I want to tell her that one day you forget
his laugh and the way his teeth lined up or didn’t
and when that day comes it won’t hurt a bit
no not even a little.
The human soul can only bear so much.

But the truth is that
it does hurt and it should hurt, sometimes.

The person-sized void lingers,
is the shadow of a friend
who was
and isn’t
there.