To Lawrence Gabriel

I hope you will forgive me for the title of this post. It wouldn’t make sense for you to get angry with me anyway, as nobody else will ever call you by that name. I could have done as usual: cloak my paragraphs in metaphors and lace each line in ambiguity, but on the off-chance you do read this someday, I must ensure that you know I wrung all of this out of me for you and you alone.I have to write this now, otherwise these are words and thoughts that will be forgotten forever. I deem them important. Perhaps they will grow into irrelevance with time, but in this very moment, the urge to keep even the tiniest fragment of what I currently feel is growing parallel to every word of disappointment that falls from my mother’s lips.

I am infinitely dismayed that it is most probable that I will never meet you. I realize that I set myself up for this. My default mindset is to never have expectations, precisely to avoid the occurrence of my current emotional reaction. For you, however, that did not happen. I wanted to believe that this “maybe” would become a “yes” when given enough of my patience and positivity. I had convinced myself that the world promised your entry into my life when it had done no such thing. A shame, it is—both your absence and my self-inflicted frustration.

I looked too far forward… so far, in fact, that what stood in front of me grew blurry. I couldn’t wait to see your face. I got excited at the thought of simply being with you. I was convinced you were the best thing that was going to happen in me in a very long time. Now that it would seem there is a world of infuriating seperation between us, and I tear up knowing that my reveries won’t become memories. I think you would’ve liked helping me mold happy realities. I think you’ve loved being here.

There was supposed to be a lifetime between our first hello and last goodbye, but all I got was three days.