Finding Closure

I still want
the truth.

Do the math. Remember
details and link facts. Drown my
mind with assumptions.

I note down dates. And hours.

If you weren't there,
if that wasn't you.

You escaped. Got a new
identity, watched us
mourn you, from a distance.

You could do that,
walk away and break hearts.
It's selfish, but
I accept that. I choose it
over the other options.
Over knowing
not even a small part of you
had remained.
Over thinking
your last minutes were horror
and ache and fire.
I want that.

You started a new life
in Spain, your dreamland.
You quit smoking, got
into law school, proposed
to someone. Got
a new tattoo that doesn't
have me or us.
I want that.

I want it to be
that you only thought
about yourself,
made a decision
and erased everything
else away.
I want that.

I want anything,
anything, anything.
I want anything

but the truth.