Today, my therapist told me to use three words to describe you.

Only three?

I could describe you in thousands, I could say how your eyes go from emerald to olive green when you cry, how you watch people's lips when they talk so you don't miss a word, how you smell like honeysuckles and rain.

But she gave me a piece of paper and a pencil and said, "Only three."

So I took a match from my pocket

And I lit the paper on fire.

--

Today, my mom gave me a journal.

She brought me a cup of hot tea and smiled, sitting at the edge of my bed.

And she told me "Use this book to write down what you feel, it might make you feel better."

But when she left and shut the door behind her, I knew I couldn't write down what I felt.

Because feelings can't be turned into words all the time.

So I took the steaming hot cup of tea from my nightstand

And poured it over the leatherbound pages.

--

Today, my brother told me I should stop moping around and cheer up.

He tossed an invitation to a party he'd be going to that night and told me "Get yourself together and show up, mom's about to have a breakdown from worrying about you"

But I didn't even look at the invitation as he left with the shake of his head.

So I took the paper in my hands

And I ripped it into little pieces.

--

Today, my therapist showed me a bunch of those ink blots.

You know those funny blobs of dark blue?

She said, "Emily, what do you see?" as she held up each one.

But all I saw was one thing, you.

So I took the ink blots on their thick cardstock paper from her hands

And I crumpled them up.

--

Today, my friend Liam came over and he told me he was worried about me.

And I told him he should be. And he frowned.

He said, "Emily, you have to move on." and he gave me a hug.

But his hugs reminded me of you.

So I pushed him away

And I slammed the door in his face.

--

Today, my therapist gave me one last chance.

She looked up over her glasses and shook her head and said, "Emily, nothing's working, this is your last chance to show some kind of improvement,"

But I don't believe in last chances.

So I left her office

And I never turned back.

--

Today, I saw you, Jack.

Your eyes weren't green though, all that was there was cold gray stone.

Your name etched into the rock, marking a boy who'd onced lived.

A boy who'd once loved me.

A boy I'd onced loved.

A boy I never stopped loving.

But I couldn't take it anymore.

So I kissed the headstone and said "See you soon,"

And I took my father's gun from my pocket and pointed it at my heart.

--

Today, I saw flashing lights.

Blue and red and sirens and screams.

But then I saw green. Emerald. No, maybe olive.

And I saw copper streaks of hair and I heard laughter.

But then the sirens stopped

So I let the laughter and green and warmth pull me in

And I took your hand in mine and I told you I missed you and I was happy to see you again.

But your green orbs turned into bright white lights.

And your smell of honey and rain turned to antiseptic and bleach.

And your warmth turned to ice.

And your laughter turned into other people's sighs of relief and sobs as my eyes opened.

--

Today, I said no words to anyone.

I saw you, but then you left.

You left me again, I was so close to being with you.

But then you were gone, because I was alive.

So when no one was looking, I tore out the wires and pumps and machines keeping you and I apart.

And I saw you again, and I heard your voice and smelled your scent.

But this time, You stayed.

But this time, I never went back.

But this time, I was with you again.

And we ran and ran.

And never looked back.