Yunior A. Rivas

Yunior Rivas

I catch myself reaching for you still; my hand brushing over the place where you used to rest.

You were a thin band of gold, shaped and scuffed by time. I changed my style so many times, but you were the one constant. I grew so used to your shining yet unassuming presence.

I searched everywhere. I retraced all my steps. I asked all around. I stared at the ground every time I walked, hoping I might stumble across you in some forgotten corner. But you are gone.

I was angry for losing you. I cursed myself for letting it happen. How could I have been so careless? How could I take your presence for granted? Maybe if I appreciated you more, you would still be with me.

I stopped searching for you. Not because I stopped caring, never that, but because I made peace with your parting. I like to imagen you found a new home, a new hand to hold on to. I find comfort in wondering if you remember me the same way I remember you.

You are a memory, a feeling I will always carry even though my hands are now empty. You are no longer here, but that doesn’t make what we had any less real.

I don’t know the exact moment you stopped belonging to me, but that doesn’t change what you were to me. You will always be my constant. You will always be my gold.