Why does the back of my throat tighten and my heart begin to sputter when I think of the deafening vernacular of a brilliant woman? Is it the fear of losing her reassuring, matter of fact phrases that tumble with ease from her lips? Could it be the twinkle that shows up in her tattered eyes when she feels my fingers brush against the back of her hand? Or her jaded smile that grows soft by means of my voice?
It is so hard to see a person who was supposed to be around forever; even though forever wasn’t left, crumbling before me. Her thin bones and pale skin so tightly bent against the thick air between us. Not knowing if today is a forgotten tomorrow or splashes of another grateful moment.
Will her voice become hollow in my head, or will I cling to the echoes of our convenient memories together? Does it even matter? Whether losing her now, in buried bones or tomorrow with a lifetime of painted canvases stripped stroke by stroke.
Deteriorating from the inside out while procrastinating the inevitable; can someone please tell me that life goes on?
I recognize life moves in stages, sections, chapters and legacies; but what does she have left? While her world crashes down, look for me, protecting the truth of who she truly is.
Dear lady, tread lightly along the sharp edge of reality while you frolic against the blunt frame of senselessness. Decorate your memories with the righteous and play with me along the raining sands of an hourglass. Sweet, brilliant woman, rest your head, pick up your feet and know that YOU will never be forgotten.
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| Nature by raymo |
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