Don't be afraid, oh my love
I'll be watching you from above
And I'd give all the world tonight to be with you
'Cause I'm on your side, and I still care
I may have died, but I've gone nowhere
Just think of me, and I'll be there
--Escape Club, "I'll be There"
The sky was cloudy over the desert all the way home.
A rainbow had granted me entrance into the city--
The colors. That's what I will always remember.
It did not rain that day, when I arrived home,
when the clouds covered the sun, like a mourning veil.
Everything was still.
And I was waiting for her to walk through the door.
I walked down the street to my friend's house,
and as I walked, flocks of doves scattered around me,
their gray wings blurring in their frantic escape
from my slow tread. And I kept thinking that Heaven
is the only place where she belongs.
I was seemingly sleepwalking, taking that little journey down
the unpaved road that I called my street,
and the sound of dove's wings
echoed in my brain, like the sound of her voice.
The colors. Every time my mind drifts
to something else, I automatically remind myself
that she's gone. It's like clockwork now,
trying to get used to a reality that I feel
absolutely no connection with. I look at
young people now, thinking if they know what
it's like to lose that one person who truly had
that sacred blood connection to you, the one who's still
living, still the most beautiful person in the world,
even though she's not here.
And I still see her. I see her every time I close my eyes.
I see her every time I look in the mirror.
I saw her wave goodbye and I waved back at her and I truly believe that there is a pair of wings with her name on them and I believe
that I hear her laugh I hear her snort I hear her saying I love you there is this hole in my chest and the wind is blowing through it and I
can feel the past creeping upon me and I don't want to come back here anymore
I just want her back.
I can only pull back the memories of the smiles,
the hugs, putting my arms around that little
frame I'd wished I'd inherited, the rolling of her eyes
at just about everything that I'd done, giving her a kiss
every time I left the house--
and sitting across the table, a table anywhere,
and being so proud that she was the one who gave me life.
The colors.
The blue in her eyes, the blue
that the sky caught in a little pocket that day--
the auburn her hair always was
as if the sun had run his fingers through it--
the freckles from the little angel's kisses.
I see her waving goodbye.
And I wave back.
We will see each other again.
Every atom in my being tells me this. Goodbyes
are only a temporary way of filling
up the space between hellos.
