When I Say No

How does one go about describing the kind of guilt I feel?

Guilt of my lack of guilt.

It is trying to know you can never have what you want how you want it.

I know I should not feel this way; I should be grateful for all that I have had thus far.

Most people do not near this in their lifetimes.

Yet the dread still seeps in, growing in the sticky, moist air like mold; like mildew. Feasting… Feasting in death.

I will not hear that joke.

There will be no big group photograph of everyone wearing similar suits laughing off loving insults.

No inquiries as to why chicken nuggets were not uncovered in banquet trays hammocked atop ice blue flames. No pinching sensation felt from the squeezing of my Chubby Cheeks. No “Koter” boasted in that singsong vibrato, despite however many times I hear it crystal clear.

Their pocket squares will not be commented on, those haircuts never had; speeches never rehearsed, shots never taken to calm the biting nerves. Grand titles going unclaimed, turning to dust.

All I worried about was the checking of scores and the indulging on spirits.

Fitting sentence to be left with — indulging on spirits.

I have learned what their fear is.

Gather my ghosts around for the first dance; they are unable to recite the toasts.