Chapter 106 of 125

8 months. 4 weeks. Less than a year.

[ p o e t r y 2]129 words~1 min read

People don't ask about you

Anymore.

And when they do

It's never at convenient times.

My boyfriend asked me tonight,

Halfway through a Chick-fil-A fry,

"How are you doing with all that?"

What does one say to that?

"I'm okay.

I still cry sometimes.

But most days I'm okay."

My grandpa died

8 months And 4 weeks ago.

This year.

He died this year.

No one asks anymore.

They seem to have forgotten he lived.

And he died.

I miss him though.

I wish more people would ask.

It seems silly to cry about

A man who's been forgotten.

It's hard to cry about

Someone who no one else

Seems to remember.

In my mourning,

I feel at times

As he died:

Alone.

I wish he could call.

04/19/24

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