there isn’t room for what would’ve been

i found the notebook with the first draft of that poem. i wrote it for him. they published it in the school literary journal, months too late. i wondered if he ever read it. i never saw my own words in print. she said she saved a copy. this morning i remembered what today was. what today would’ve been. and i thought about it, and really. i don’t know who i was a year ago. i’m not sure i remember who i was the years before. this feels surreal, but it’s nothing like pain.

today, i wish you well.