This morning, I remembered poetry
And the fight we had last night became meaningless
and yet took on a shape so much more painful.
I forgot, somewhere in between dying and coming back,
that others might need time to deal with this newness of living.
You cannot be blamed, standing there shocked holding the shroud,
for your relived detachment.
You cannot be blamed for not believing me when I said to you,
in a whisper,
that I would return.