My friend stretched her legs,

Before putting her foot

Upon her Mama’s bathroom counter.

She “picked” the lock

So we could talk

As I took a shower.

She asked if I had a good day.

I really wanted her to stop talking.

I really wanted to hold my head and sit down on the shower floor and just think.

I told her that I had a good day.

I told her that I hope she did too.

She said “It’s a good day to die.”

And I was suddenly more aware.

“I agree.”

Couldn’t feel relief

At what was neither a threat

Or genuine attempt

At emotional honesty.

“I will love you forever.”

So tired of hearing that, so tired of hearing I was special.

So was she. We had exhausted that point into meaninglessness.

Tell me again, it’s a good day to die.

Because I know what that means.

Proclamations of love went unanswered and I’m sure that hurt.

But she knows how I feel.

She knows it’s all good.

It’s not really her fault for confessing.

And she must know, she was never more precious to me than when the shower curtain

Separated us long enough for her to admit

It was a good day to die.

It means so much to me that you feel the same.

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