When your toys
were strewn across the carpet,
I would have thought to myself - Three years
from now, I will not miss you
as much as
I thought I would. But more than
everyone else did -
And then, I'll think
of all the stars that have
burned up. All the bottles
of wine I've drank. All
the nightmares I wrote like
love.
And I'll fail at writing a poem about you.