I try not to remember the days
when you were lost in a morphine haze
when you were here and then you weren’t
when you were broken, and you were cold.
I try not to remember the way
your eyes rolled back into your head
the way your skin turned grey
the way your breath was all the things you said.
Now I remember the way you painted the sky
the way you looked in my eyes
the way you now run through streams and fly through clouds
and how perfect, whole and real you are now, even though I don’t see it.
I will always remember the sound
of the outrage in your voice
when I came to you with injustices clear
and you stood like a guardian, furious on my behalf.
I choose to remember that this life is but a breath;
a grain of sand in an hourglass unseen;
I look forward to following in your steps, just as I did when I was a little girl.
I look forward to finally going
where until that day I cannot follow.
And it helps me remember you how you must really be,
and not the shell you left behind.
It helps me see that you knew exactly what you were doing
by leaving me.