You were the warmth of my December

The day you left,

you handed me a wishbone,

and I still don’t know what meant more —

that you saved it for me,

or that I really thought I had a chance.

You pulled the bigger piece

like it was nothing.

And I hope you know —

I wanted you to win.

I always want you to get what you want,

even when it isn’t me.

You always won so softly —

like when we played air hockey,

and you’d smile, never gloat.

Even your victories were a display of grace.

And I just stood there,

holding the smaller end

like it might still mean something.

I made a wish anyway.

Didn’t say it out loud.

Didn’t want you to know

I would’ve broken every rule

just to keep you.

Back then, I would’ve sworn

we wanted the same thing.

Maybe we did.

Maybe wishes take years to be answered.

God, we gleamed like silver

when we were in the same place.

As did you,

in that white long-sleeve.

You found a way to shame the angels

without even trying.

We hugged each other tightly the entire time,

tears were shed,

and I still hate that they were mine first.

You licked them up,

and somehow made the breaking feel like art.

You told me my blue eyes made me look like I was from Maine.

We saw a young family on the playground

and you said that would be us one day.

You said we would host Thanksgiving and Christmas

and your sister would host Easter.

We talked about the future

like we could outrun every version that didn't have us in it.

We spoke about forever

like it was written.

We spoke about rings

like they were already on our fingers.

It made me think of the one your fifth-grade teacher gave you.

I thought about what it carried.

What she carried for you.

The year you lost your dog,

the sleepovers,

you witnessing her boyfriend bringing her flowers for the first time,

how every small thing burned itself into you.

You commented on the wolf on my t-shirt,

even let out a howl.

Oh.. that sound you'd make

when you let out a little wild—

It got me every time.

You said you wanted to say “it” back—

and I wanted to believe you, more than anything.

You said what we had was adoration.

I told you it was every good feeling,

folded tightly into one fragile word—

and even that fell short.

You said you had to come back,

that you wanted to be the only girl

I’d ever love.

I don’t think you realized

how true those words would become,

or how I’ve turned them over in my mind

every day since.

You had a flight.

I had work.

So I grabbed a Sharpie

in desperation

and wrote on your wrist—

I love you so much.

I looked up, voice cracking—

“Don’t get lost out there.”

Because if you did,

I’d be lost forever.