Untitled by Anonymous

Content warning: this poem contains language pertaining to death. You are dead. That makes it sound like you still exist as a dead person, You don’t exist. You did, But you don’t exist anymore. Or ever again. Your death was such a terrible sadness; Physical suffering is so pitiful, But it doesn’t exist anymore either. There was a funeral, But it doesn’t matter. Even though it was at your request, Because you don’t exist. I saw a body. It wasn’t you of course, But it looked like you, But you were just as non-existent that day as any day since. I loved you, But I can’t love you anymore, Because you don’t exist. Maybe I’ve just been busy And I’ll see you on Thanksgiving. But I won’t. Because you don’t exist. There was a period of time When you existed, When I could feel all the feelings: When I could be happy with you, Listen to you, Look at you, Cry for you, A time when it mattered that you wanted a funeral. Because you existed. That time is over. It’s been three months; I see you often, Which is strange because you don’t exist. I loved you so much.