Exits and Entrances

I still have your sweatshirt, that old one with no hood and a hole near my belly button. You used to get so annoyed with it, because it was never long enough. But I remember, Tommy, I always will, when you let me borrow it for Halloween and I never gave it back. I sleep with it now, the sleeves held close to my lips and the stupid hole in the belly catching on the elastic of my pants.

I still have that picture of us on the ferris wheel next to my bed, between the wall and the alarm clock. You know the one I’m talking about, right, Tommy? Where I’m leaning my head on your shoulder, hiding my face in your neck while you smile wide, your blue eyes glowing as you pressed the button, flash erupting in our faces and illuminating us in the dark of the carnival. It’s our favorite picture of us, and it was, by far, the best Facebook profile picture I ever had.

Pictures of me seem empty now without you standing next to me.

I watch you from the cafeteria now, watching as you eat lunch with all those idiots you promised you’d never hang out with. I see it in your eyes, Tommy. Those beautiful blue eyes I once believed in were now fading into red. I always thought you knew better, Tommy.