If I Could Talk To You Now

If I could talk to you now, I would tell you I am ok, have survived with this tattooed body of scars.

I would tell you there are times I shatter under the weight of “only child.”

I’d tell you that you’d be proud of me, proud of the person I’ve become, which maybe only looks impressive in comparison to what I’ve gone through. Perspective only has context.

I’d tell you I don’t fell connected to the community suicide survivors. You were taken from me before you even took yourself away. I would tell you I don’t even feel connected to mental health community because you weren’t mental. You were beautiful. I’ll rename it the “beautiful health” community, you, our fearless leader.

I’d tell you your smile floats in and out of my consciousness every day. I didn’t know a smile could burn so deeply in one’s psyche. Like a branding.

I’d tell you some days feel long and some days feel short, and all in all not much has changed. Yet everything has changed. I’d tell you I feel more unsure about all things.

I’d tell you people remember you. You are still active in their lives. I’d tell you I’m afraid, at times, to know that I am also just a thread in the web. Like you. That I won’t sparkle as much.

Am I already gone? Are you the one who’s truly arrived somewhere?

I’d tell you sometimes the veil is thin, and your touch feels silky, like melted butter.

I’d tell you I’m unsure. I’m unsure.

I’d tell you not to cry for me. Because when the pieces are smashed, laid out, something new can be made. And I believe that’s a blessing; so wipe those tears, dear brother.

I’d tell you I feel more than ever before. It expands beyond this body. Which means I’m bigger.

And you’re bigger. And together, we’re the biggest.

I would tell you…