Accident

I cried the most when you died. After everyone left the funeral, I stayed, knelt at your newly dug grave and sobbed. I couldn't bring myself to leave you all alone underground. All I could think about was you; thrashing around in your coffin, clawing at the top, trying to find someway, anyway to get out, until you exhausted your efforts and ideas and fell asleep forever. 

Except that wasn't how you died.

You died on August 14th, 2012 in a car accident that was all your fault. You caused your own death and that makes me want to yell and scream at you at the top of my lungs. But you're dead. So I yell and scream at myself for not being there. You used to tell me that the reason you didn't wear your seat belt was because you wouldn't mind dying. I hated the way you said it, like you were trying to get a reaction out of me. When you didn't, your stupid face formed into a smirk and you left it off.

Now... I wonder if you were wearing your seat belt when you died. I saw your car. The windshield has a huge hole in the front on the driver's side. So, I guess not.

If I would have given you a reaction would you have worn a seat belt?

I miss you. I can't stand the fact that you aren't sitting across from me while I try to write. You'd always prompt me and when I finally started writing, your green eyes would distract me and I'd end up writing poem after poem about how you are my world. I can't eat. I can't sleep. The only thing I do is kneel at your grave and talk to you. You don't talk back... and that makes me realize that I can't remember what your voice sounded like. How? How could I have forgotten something so beautiful and right? How could I have forgotten everything I cared for?

I'm sitting at the dining table, yet you aren't siting across from me, with a smirk on your face. I play with my food; swirl it around on my plate and then leave it on the table for the night. Your stupid dog ends up eating it anyway.

I quit my job. It reminds me of you. Your brother works there, I think that's why.

Anyway, I'm leaving this by your grave. Maybe you'll read it when I leave. Maybe you are awake down there.

I love you. I miss you. I will see you soon, wherever you've ended up.

I'm not sure your collection of Bukowski books helped your chance in Heaven at all.