Nine PM Traffic.

Three years ago today
you left –
you went very far away
from me.
I haven’t seen you to this day,
but I know you’re still here.

You bounded down the stairs
when we first met, at dinner.
We played video games for hours,
and I think you scared my brother –
you were just THAT good at Mortal Combat.

You sang me “Happy Birthday”
in front of all my friends
when I was in the seventh grade –
I had just turned thirteen
and felt like the coolest girl in school.

You preached every Mother’s Day on Youth Sunday,
you played a mean bass guitar,
you were in that band, Nine PM Traffic,
you went to UNC – you had so much
going for you. I adored that.

You were Rameses.

News of the accident numbed me –
I succumbed to the aches
of the pangs in my chest.
I was supposed to go visit you
the following week, but this –
this certainly put a dent in our plans.

Dressed in mourning, I approached
you – one final time to say goodbye –
an image forever impressed in my mind.

Now, here I am, three years
after. Three  years wiser,
three years stronger, and still
missing you here –
but somehow, I can rejoice,
because I know you’ll never leave
me again.


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