UNKILLABLE

Almost Arriving

Every time I inch toward something called normal,

when the day almost tricks me into believing I’ve arrived,

doom slips its hand back on my shoulder.

I will never accept it.

Not in this life, not in any.

Jack is gone, they tell me,

but I spit back the only truth I know:

He may be gone,

but he will never, ever, ever be forgotten.

You will know his name.

You will know his story.

If I remain in this strange matrix of survival,

it is only to keep him alive in every syllable,

every note, every silence that dares to fill the room.

My grief is my rebellion.

My love, unkillable.