I want to believe that you are here
That you see I am missing you
And seeing me go back and read the wonderful things you wrote
I want to believe you are better off
Not in this world but somewhere
Where you are happy and loved and no longer in pain
I want to believe that you hear me
When I whisper to you at night
Remembering all the times we talked until the sun rose
I want to believe I will see you
In another place together again
Laughing, loving and just being — the way that sisters do
We had tiny hands
And little feet
And dreams that dwarfed us both
We hugged. We laughed. We held hands.
Walking from dawn to dusk
Friends forever we said
Forever doesn’t last
When you are no longer
Small with tiny hands and little feet
Too many grown-ups
Rush against the end
Of something, somewhere
There is no time to laugh
And believe in forever
Not now. Grow up.
Get a job.
Quit acting like a kid.
Today I am so thankful we did not cook a huge feast at our house yesterday. I am glad our refrigerator is not filled with so much unhealthy food.
It was 37 degrees here when we took our morning walk today. Brrrr! It was brisk!
Time to go scout for a Christmas tree!
The words you speak kiss me with promises
of time filled with love
precious and fleeting
Your eyes speak a language of understanding
of times behind us
yet to be made
Your heart urges mine into the same rhythm
of life and living
of what remains
It’s simple with you and me.
Because of where we have been
We understand where we are going
And cherish the road that takes us there
Tonight this song came to my mind. It is one of the many Cat Stevens songs that I loved at a particular point in my life. When he stopped recording I was saddened, but his music from this time will forever live as a very important part of my life.
Yusuf Islam has been a great humanitarian on the world stage. I have not followed any of his more recent music but will make a note to do so. But not tonight.
Tonight I remember. A different time. A different place. A different me.
It was a glorious, brisk day on the Parkway. The color will be gone soon, but the view will be here forever!
When it rains, I think of you.
A little girl in blue jeans and her hair in French braids.
We always heard the story of you standing at the window watching the rain fall. Your cheek and your hand pressed against the window pane.
“Pou’in’ down rain.”
I miss you, Sis. I have my memories, but it doesn’t take the place of having you.