Memories
I miss you. Every time I sing I miss you. I see a space where you ought to be sitting.
I miss you in November. I miss you at Christmas.
I wish we weren’t ruled by money. If we were ruled simply by friendship or trust, then maybe you’d still be here. You only went because you had no money and too much pride.
I wish I could believe that you were in a better place, looking down on me, because I know that if you were, you’d be so proud of me, like you always were. But I can’t believe that.
I should have been a better friend to you. I should have cut through your pride and given you the sort of help you really needed. I should have done so much more for you. I let you down so much, and you let me. I was so angry with you! Why did you have to go? We loved you so much! Why couldn’t you have just said?
I remember the last time I saw you, three years ago. It was a hard time in my life too. I gave you a cuddle and said that everything would be alright now because I was home, and I saw tears in your eyes. Why couldn’t I see? And I remember that night a week later when I phoned your house number over and over again, hoping you’d pick up, even though I knew the house was empty and I’d never ever hear your voice again.
I remember standing on that hillside two weeks later, wishing it was all a nightmare, not knowing what to say except I’m sorry, I’m sorry, as if you could hear me.
And I’m still sorry.
