I go to see Julie again on Tuesday
hoping that she’ll have some magic cure
because even though my days are okay
the nights have become torture
as I try to push away the thoughts that bombard me
the memories that haunt me
and the anger

even though what I am dealing with has a name
it doesn’t help much
post-traumatic stress seems like something that should
be reserved for war heroes
not some stupid teenager
but that’s still what she keeps calling it

after the usual “how was your week stuff”
she puts a chair in between us and tells me to pretend
that Ethan is sitting there
I look at the empty chair and try to imagine
Ethan
like me, he would be three years older
and I wonder what he would even look like
so I put the almost 15 year old Ethan in the chair
the same one who was with me that night

and though I want to scream and yell and accuse
I can’t seem to form any words
If I saw him on the street or in a store
I don’t know what I would say
I wonder if he even thinks what happened that night
was wrong

with no words to speak
I simply cry