and suddenly i remember the poetry reading in the library 

coming up to read the poem that was labeled as anonymous

the poem the eulogy for my relationship

and the sun streaming in and the charts and everyone watching

and later the poetry teacher ava? telling me how she knew that one was anonymous she was surprised to hear me read it

and later oona mentioning it to me asking me if they could publish it while i was on the phone in my gray basement

and after mr. casey leaning against the window next to that woman professor and him complimenting the poem, the last line especially, saying good work it meant something

that between you in the air him knowing

like when he comforted you because you weren’t okay and he said you didn’t look it either

in his art room crying and choking on water and talking about love and him listening to your distress

and giving you relationship advice?

and telling you to take it easy

him when he would see you walking with him down the street and say hi and you knew he knew because you had told him

sobbing and sniffling breaking down the "savauge" exterior the nickname he threw to you as you and the class painted in the yellow high-ceilinged room

the mornings that washing your paintbrushes in the bucket in the sink in the hallway by the bathroom were the most incredible solace

the high school teachers that make it all worth it, that are there for you in ways you could never ask for, for yourself