Tell my father not to come to the funeral. 

Tell my mother not to cry. Tell her not to think about that time in the car, not to regret keeping me out of the psych ward. I am unfixable. I am enigmatic. I am too self aware for psychiatry to touch the broken parts of me.

Tell Morgan I'm sorry I made fun of her in middle school and I'm sorry I broke her best friend's heart.

Tell Sam that I'm sorry for everything: for the missed calls, the broken microphone, the way he always wanted to touch me but never could. Tell him I wanted to buy that plane ticket up until the very last second. Tell him that all the stories, the narratives, the long explanations: all of it counts for something. Tell him I never deleted his number even when he stopped answering. Tell him I never stopped dreaming of the night we first saw each other, of the thoughtless chords he played sporadically. Tell him that I'm sorry for everything. Tell him not to follow me.

I miss him like I am lightyears away, not miles. It fits; I can't breathe can't sleep can't eat. I want to godmake a version of me who never learned to believe promises. I want to coldquit him but without the withdrawal. I want to stop composing symphonies in the long insomniac nights because all they do is remind me of playing Sufjan Stevens in the background so he would know I remembered to listen, and so I could cover up the sound of crashing into him (like the oceans we talked about seeing and never saw.)

He sharpened his edges until they broke me. We all bleed the same, but god: I've never seen him bleed at all.