A Toast for Oct. 21

a poem

Here’s to the end.

Always the end.

Here’s to the stories

that never begin.

Here’s to the scars

that didn’t have wounds.

Here’s to the future

in unopened tombs.

.:.

Here’s to the stranger

I’ll always be.

Here’s to the would-have’s,

the could-have’s, the maybe’s.

Here’s to the hurt

I have no right to feel.

Here’s to the fears

that I’ll have to heal.

.:.

Here’s to the enemy

I’ve made of myself.

To the ceiling of feeling

like second, or twelfth.

Here’s to the no

that never was said.

Here’s to the yes,

unheard and unread.

.:.

Here’s to the worst

of my imagination.

To unshattered, unchanging

met expectations.

.:.

Here’s to the usual,

overworked premise.

Here’s to the plot

with all the same twists.

.:.

Here’s to the end.

Always the end.

To the was, is, and we’ll never be.

.:.

Here’s to the us,

that never was.

.:.

Here’s to the you’s.

And here’s to me.

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