Spring by Anonymous

One year last spring, 

And it still followed me everywhere. 

When the shock had worn off, 

I thought I would once again start to see you as a human being. 

Two years this spring, 

And I almost hate how the familiar grief is fading. 

How the comforting weight of loss no longer drags me to sleep. 

Even if I am still unwilling to face seeing you in my dreams. 

Three years next spring, 

I hope by then I'll only remember the good, 

that I'll know I did everything that possibly I could. 

Maybe I can learn to stop the guilty cycle of thought. 

Next time spring comes I hope I don’t remember it at all. 

I hope I stop having that nightmare where we kept being friends. 

Because I’m afraid that when I wake up the feeling that it’s all my fault 

will always haunt me in the end.