all my relationships are lined in a cemetery

i. an ipod touch of taylor swift songs and kickin’ it fan fiction and old chocolate wrappers that still crinkle-crinkle on the gravestone -- i wanted to get lunch with you when you asked

ii. a drawing of me and a handwritten letter and a single document that tells me to sleep and eat more that still chides me from the gravestone inscription -- i wanted to apologize one last time

iii. a red guitar pick and a purple and white friendship bracelet and a poem that still whispers from the ground -- i wanted you to stop asking for forgiveness

iv. an exchange of tentative texts and an annotated john green book and playlists listened to late at night -- i prepare the grave, i dig into the ice-hardened ground, i demand it to be finished–

+ i. you reach for my wrist
and force me to stop digging.

+ ii. “do not bury me here,” you say.

+ iii. i do not bury you.

+ iv. you lead me out of the cemetery.