You might not ever see this

My hands haven’t stopped shaking for the past little while. Especially when I try to write this. It’s been almost 2 weeks and the best I came up with was something about a cherry coke zero and an ode that probably won’t be read.

I made a book. Well I helped make a book. Do you remember helping me with what my section was going to be? The first poem is dedicated to you, and also my last one and probably the ones in between. It’s called twice as many stars and I think I’m going to start making my own soon. Maybe you could read it after you finish your stack of books that is probably as tall as you now. Perhaps my book could say something poetic like before you were born you were the brightest star in space and once you die you’ll be the brightest still but that isn’t the whole truth because you are still that brightest star. 

I have to thank you.

I think I understand now why that two headed calf poem means so much to me. 

I think you were the other calf head to let me see twice as many stars.

With you it was a perfect summer evening: the moon rising over the orchard, the wind in the grass. 

But right now it hurts.

I’m hurting right now. I never thought I could feel this way about anyone but now that someone is all I think about. I hate that fighting for this right now looks like space but I will fight forever if that means we can listen to quiet nights on the top of cars looking up. I want to send you more songs and scripture and funny videos and I want to add to the list with every acoustic activity because life is simple with you. I want that simple life. I try to remember everything that happens in a way that I can share it with you. But we can’t do that right now. And I know that’s what’s best but I don’t feel my best. I feel like I lost one of the most important people of my life and my hands might not ever stop shaking because of that. 

Who would want to stare at the normal amount of stars? I know I don’t. But I also know I will never be without double stars because you are still there with me, in my mind, my camera roll, and my words. My words probably aren’t good enough, my writing just another lost poem, but I will never stop writing about the star that shot into my life and lit up my world. I haven’t seen the star in a while but I know I will again. I’m just so grateful the star exists you exist. Please don’t ever doubt that you have a boy, with shaking hands, 11 minutes away, thinking about you.

That boy is a little more quiet now, a little more thoughtful, a little more grown up. He’s a little more ready for an escape that is minutes out of reach but he still smiles when he thinks of you. So he smiles a lot. Basically all the time. The smile hurts but it’s worth it. You are worth it. Always have been. And always will be.

And he will always be thinking about you