I feel like an oil painting that never dries. My colors are changing or they are bleeding from one to the next. Sometimes taking shape, sometimes looking like noise. The salt water keeps everything wet. Sometimes, I think… that says more than the words I can find to describe it.
You saw it within me. Even admired it I think. But you didn’t how to hold it… and I didn’t know how to ask you to.
Sometimes… I wish we were still the “kids” there in that room.
It will always know the tune to your melody. Even after the wildfires, miles, & time. Now it’s just from a different place.
Hearts bleed on to paper to echo memories. Like holograms they dance on the pages of my mind. Yet it seems a purposeful wind wists them away as ghosts again. I hope you’re doing well.
We’ll never have just the right words.
So may we continue to cultivate a sensitive and open heart, because the true barometer is how we feel.
I wish I was there with you. I found your hand when we started into the woods. Held it tight. Held it dearly. But I didn’t know you were running to the fall. I couldn’t pull myself from planting the roses I thought were for us. When I looked up you were gone. I ran and ran, tears and branches wiping my face. I followed the small voice I heard in the wind, out to the other side. It was your’s… calling from the bottom of the basin. You had already jumped, not realizing the only way down for me was if I went with you. I wish I had been there. I wish.
Sometimes I still think I hear you down there.