wystswolf

Some spaces can never be filled, only felt.

We will stand on the beach,
at the crest of a dune at sunset,
your hair whipping in the wind,
brushing my cheek the way it did
when you leaned close to speak.

I'll recall how it used to tickle me,
but in time I came to love it's
gentle caress.
Its softness.

Gulls will cry somewhere far off,
reedy grass will bend and sway,
but all I will feel is your hand
slipping into mine—
that familiar fit,
warm and certain.

My voice, weak with long years
will whisper out:
“It has been my great honor
to love you.
To keep you safe.
You taught me how devotion feels
when it settles into the body—
how loyalty can draw up courage.”

And you will laugh,
shoulder nudging mine,
eyes bright with that mischief
I never learned to resist.
“What? I can’t hear you
over the wind and the gulls.”
You'll say it with that eager lilt
I loved so much.
It will make me smile
and gather you against my chest,
your temple resting
in the hollow beneath my collarbone,
your breath warming my skin.

The sand will lift and sting,
tiny grains kissing my ankles,
and with that touch—
that small reminder of the world
still moving without you—
I will finally understand
you have been gone
for some time.

But even as sadness rises
like the tide around my feet,
the memory of your weight
against my ribs,
your fingers laced with mine,
your laughter caught in my throat—
all of it will remain.

And the honor of loving you
will feel as intimate,
as astonishing,
as real
as it does today.

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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.

Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!

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