I know how to build a tomb.

First you keep all of her stuff.

You keep it all in her room the same way for years.

Then you start to get rid of it all.

But you still hoard pieces of it in the corners of your room.

Then you read all of her writings.

All of the stuff you wish you didn’t know.

All of the stuff that tears you apart.

Then you try to copy all of her doodles.

You start drawing them in the margins of all of your notebooks.

You do this for years.

So long that you forget they aren’t yours.

That there is nothing original about you.

You are just the shadow of the things that she was.

Then you keep her photo on a mantel.

Just like Laura Palmer.

Until the smile haunts you.

Until you avoid looking at it.

Then you only remember the bad times.

The time you pulled away when she waned to dance with you.

The time she wrote you that awful letter.

You play those on a loop until you’re not sure there is anything to miss.

Then you never change your outgoing phone message.

You call it whenever you desperately need her.

Then years later the phone company deletes it.

Just like that you have nothing.

You’ve always had nothing.

You were wrong.

First you lose her.

That is how you build a tomb.