Dearest friend. I feel sadness and soft tears wanting to fall upon me. They whisper lonesome words of grief that cannot fathom your reasons for leaving, or the despairing thoughts that led you to such a choice. They keep pressing, yearning to be set free, but they doubt that it’s their time; their place to be shed. Slowly, they ease and they ask pleadingly if they could be let through, for it is for you. Softly, they knock on the doors of my mind, seeking for answers that cannot be found. They slither and wonder through every dendrite, making senseless connections of inexplicable respite.
Any explanation given from few fleeting experiences that connect some dots with untraceable lines is as much a half-truth as is an alternate life. It’s having a word at the tip of your tongue, or stretching one’s fingertips to touch your hand, it’s one of these paradoxes with the tortoise and the hare: one never reaching the other; I, really, cannot bear.
I don’t know what you did or how you did it, if your face stayed the same or if there was a closed casket; I didn’t dare ask. It was too morbid, too dark to confront; I didn’t have the heart to get him to talk. You know who I mean and his pain in your leave; with no explanation, no hint of good bye, death gave you a kiss and he’ll never know why.
You left us behind, that was your choice, that was your mind; and we struggle to walk, to move on with our paths, for your light has faded and our way grew dimmer. A significant loss to all for whom your flame simmered.
My tears ceased to press, knowing there’s no way to go; but, one moment, give them time, for right now I’m aware and not ready to cry. Though I know at some point, I will give, I’ll concede, for there’s always room to allow myself to grieve.