People can’t just die that fast.
Only just a month ago,
We were comparing our weathers.
I’d be describing my Californian winter, filled
With sunshine and—by God—my despicable 60 degrees Fahrenheit
Because who in their right mind uses otherwise?
And you’d retort right back about
What a fine British weather you were having
As you waited for the delayed—and yet again—train.
I can almost imagine you sometimes
With your four…five layers of insulated winter wear
Silently stomping your feet and the crunching of the snow below
The occasional sniffle and the sound of your clothes as you move
As you furiously tapped your phone
It was only just a month ago.
People can’t just die that fast.
Perhaps it was my fault.
I didn’t understand, nor did I want to understand.
I promised that we should talk more
And then I never replied the next day.
But. I’m still angry at you.
For so many things at once
For friending me at the beginning
For being there when we—the whole lot of us—wanted to talk
For slowly not talking to any of us
For not telling me And then for letting me know.
You know,
People can’t just die that fast.