Four Years Ago Today

Four years ago today,

your heart stopped and mine broke.

Something about an artery,

but I just think your heart was at capacity.

So they patched you up and fixed you for me.

Four years ago today,

when I realised you’d almost died,

I stopped looking up and started looking inside.

But inside myself I got a little bit lost,

driftwood flung around and tossed about by a tide.

For a while, an intermission.

But your mission has always been to make me strong.

That was your plan, I know, all along.

Four years ago today,

The last four years were just a prediction,

that “minor” affliction,

the scars that you bear

are hallmarks of the strength I hope I can share.

Though I may not show it always,

there are days when if thanking god was my thing,

I’d hypothetically do it.

Four years ago today,

I wished I could run up that hill and go

through it instead of you,

go through something hard

but you made sure I never had to.

Four years ago today,

I lost my faith in invincible,

and in principle I suppose that’s good.

I guess I should stop being that driftwood.

or throw it on the fire, watch it burn

as I try to turn into a grown up.

Four years ago today,

you came back to life,

and now that’s what I need to do.

I breathe and I eat and I sleep and I work,

but it hurts even to blink.

And I think that’s why someone decided

to save you: I need you, although it’s so hard to re-play,

I’m so glad that you lived

four years ago today.