Death and all its Colors

I recall as though it were yesterday.

The fall was crisp and orange and yellow

But the remnants of green clung heroically to the trees.

It was a losing battle for them,

Just like it was for you.

 

We looked out over Central Park,

Leaning close together

The way sisters often do,

Resting on the hope of a miracle and the dream of a future.

 

The wind blew through the city,

Between the buildings,

And rustled my hair and whatever was left of yours–

Whatever the sickness hadn’t claimed.

 

And now, here I sit

Kneeling before a headstone that will never do your life justice,

And wishing it was our fingers entwining now

Instead of the way I am running my hand over these blades of grass.

 

Are you up in heaven?

Are you far beyond the moon,

Looking down on me and my mourning heart and

Wishing me the same peace that you’ve found?

 

I wish it too.

Always.

Perhaps soon, Little Sister,

Perhaps soon.

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