Anne

I don’t know you,

but I’ve read your diary.

I picked it up

at eleven years old–

four years younger

than you.

 

I don’t know you,

not really.

I know about you,

your likes and dislikes,

your family and friends,

the place you lived,

your words,

but a person is more.

You left this world

long before I came to it

with millions of others

killed by hate,

just like you.

 

I sat in an empty classroom

devouring the words you left.

Abruptly,

the words ran out.

I don’t know you,

but I’ve mourned you.

 

I’m older than you now

filled more diaries

than you ever will.

I’m still as confused

by your loss

as I was then.

The world should be better

should be kinder.

I don’t know you,

but I know this:

You should have lived.