A Strange and Mournful Day

I hold your childhood in my cupped hands. I bring my hands to my chest, and slowly open them. The treasure floats free and soaks into my flesh and passes through my bones to rest in my heart.

Yesterday’s treasure was memories of your younger sister. What will tomorrow’s treasure be? I will hold them all for you because you no longer can. You have caught me every time I’ve fallen, and now I lay myself down as a cushion for your head.

I see your green eyes smiling at me, the crinkles in the corners increasing in recent years, but you are not behind them. Where have you gone? You tell me cryptic and frightening tales; why aren’t you among the wildflowers?

A howling builds within me, a whirlwind of frustration and grief. It will scrape trees from the soil and pulverize rocks. The cyclone calms when I remember that you can forget, but you will not be forgotten.

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