Some Things I Still Can't Tell You: Poems

by Misha Collins

There are some things I still can’t tell you.

When I’m far from you, I imagine the Details of your existence, What you had for breakfast, Who you saw for lunch, Whether you have on Your white sweater Or your red one

Her father died a year and a half ago. Waves of mourning still come, Along with some regret. She said, “But I feel like I know him Better now that he’s gone.”

When you were swimming in the lake of life, You thrashed and kicked up your head, Your arms slapped the surface waves and water foam. But there’s a calm and glassy stillness In the quiet of your death, And I can see far down To the depths of you That I never knew to love.

I have to remember to Be grateful for me.

I want to travel Back to our beginning So I can re-learn you And re-earn you, This time better. This time, I’ll savor and Remember everything.

All I know Is that without you I am lost.

When I was learning to act And needed to cry for a scene, I would often imagine the unbearable emptiness Of a life without you.