Reluctant to leave for Paris because I thought I would be leaving you behind. Instead, I have left myself behind. I follow the path of your bread crumbs. You lead me back to some joy, some pain. Another place. Another memory. Whispering through the art work. The streets. But I am not really here. Even though this was my place and you were my visitor. I look through your eyes. Eat what you loved. Wear your clothes.
Unbearable loss. Days that go on and on. Places we went together, still holding your
presence. Memory stopped. You were many things to me, but the love I felt was boundless. It still is. How do I preserve it and shed it simultaneously? How do I make sense of myself?
I return to the garden in the rain. My sister is by my side. We search for the ancient beekeeper who has taken shelter with his bees. Afraid to ask, we just watch.
Unbearable loss. Days that go on and on. Places we went together, still holding your
presence. Memory stopped. You were many things to me, but the love I felt was boundless. It still is. How do I preserve it and shed it simultaneously? How do I make sense of myself?
I return to the garden in the rain. My sister is by my side. We search for the ancient beekeeper who has taken shelter with his bees. Afraid to ask, we just watch.
No comments:
Post a Comment