All the versions of you
I miss you every day. The woman you were, the woman you could have been.
I miss christmas morning, me on the stairs, knees pressed on the carpet making marks on my small legs. Waiting for your voice to call me down. The paper the lights your smile breaking the room open.
I miss you reading me to sleep, the way your words folded over me, soft as a blanket.
I miss your hugs. I miss your voice. I even miss your messes, the cups in the sink the peanut butter on the fridge. The tantrums, the half told stories spilling in the night.
You wanted to be my best friend. Your biggest fear before i was born was that i would hate you. We will never have that now, and you felt that your fears came true. I was cruel, sharper than i meant to be. Teenage cruelty is a small, ugly inheritance. You deserved more than i gave.
Now i bring flowers to your grave, trying to make it beautiful for you. I do not speak. I know if i start i will fall back into the first day without you, and i will not come back.
I miss every version of you, the ones i knew, the ones i didnt, and the ones i never will see.
If i could hold you again, I would not let go. I would swallow every unkind word. I would tell you, you were enough. I would tell you, I love you. Until the words turn to dust in my mouth.
Now there is only grass. No stone. Just grass that grows without you, and the hollow where you should be.