death knocks next door

It’s funny how the other day we were chatting, as we do, now and then. how’s life? how’s the man? the dog? work? are you doing ok? come visit. that dress looks great on you. beautiful girl.

and then you’re gone, another star in the constellation, a feather on the path, a butterfly on the breeze, visiting in my dreams and sighing in my ear.

i reach for the books i want to read again. play the songs i want to hear again. like you, i might never again drink in those words or visit those imaginery landscapes or be lost in that soulful melody. i want to run and breathe deep the gloomy grey of rainy winter days and the crimson hues of warm summer sunsets. i want to make something beautiful because what will i leave behind and how will people remember me. as they do you. gentle, kind, loving, passionate, a dreamer, a thinker, a wanderer. we are not all lost, my darling. you were perfect.

sink deep into the soft ebony night. shake out your hair. rest your bones.

you will be remembered.

you will be remembered.