Since the April you left us,
you took the spring blooms with you.
I’ve written the story of you—
the love and the loss of you
again and again,
searching for sense in a senseless system.
I want to trace every memory of your bright blue eyes,
the crack in your voice,
and etch them into my skin,
entwining your existence with mine.
I want to write you back into every story you missed—
show you the human your little sister grew into,
share new music and commiserate about the world burning.
Maybe I’ll get the good ending this time.
the one where you smiled
the one where you lived
the one where you stayed
but you couldn’t, and you didn’t.
I will lovingly cradle the grief of you deep in my chest,
finding peace in the privilege of knowing you lived.
You were here, it was real
you stayed.
A 15-year lacking weighs and erodes, I’ll carry you with me wherever I go.
