I’ll Wear Red

I think about your death every single day.
Not in a creepy way.
Just in that
"mmm, peace and quiet" kind of way.

I imagine the service.
Small.
Sparse.
Like your emotional availability.

I’ll wear red.
Because grief doesn’t live here.
And because I look amazing in it.

I’ll be a beacon of joy—
a splash of colour
against a sea of
beige disappointment
and poorly chosen floral arrangements.

There will be three people there.
Two will be confused.
One will be relieved.

I’ll speak briefly.
Something like:
“He lived.
He lied.
He left.”

Then I’ll sit back down
and enjoy the silence
you never could.

And no—
I won’t stay long.
But I will take a cupcake.
Because even your funeral
should serve someone.

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