Memories.

When your mom first called me, I didn’t believe her. I couldn’t believe her. I threw the phone against the wall and cursed her existence.

How could she possibly have told me such a lie?

But it wasn’t a lie.

I don’t think I fully believed it until I saw you lying there in the casket.

Then I knew.

The note you left explained some things, but I still wish you could have just told me yourself and answered the questions remaining. Then, when you told me, I could have told you I love you. I love you no matter what and I don’t care. I don’t care that you are a lesbian; that you are transgender.

I don’t care because I still love you.

I just wish I could have held on to what I saw on that first day. You’re a girl.

I just wish I could have told you this before you died.

It doesn’t feel the same talking to a stone.