my head is being pushed into water by sets of hands. sometimes the water  finds its way into my tear ducts. sometimes into my lungs.

the hands never identify themselves. but sometimes when i wiggle my fingers, my head itches.

sometimes i forget
that when you left
you took nothing with you.

sometimes i forget
that my music isn’t mine.
my outlook: shaped by you.
you took nothing from me.

sometimes the spaces
you occupied within me
light up. reminding me
that while you left, you also
left so much more
to be discovered.

sometimes i see your fingerprints
everywhere.

you, my love, are both.
both the warrior and the healer.
both the scholar and the giggles.
both the smile and the voice.
both the dreamer and the work.
both the sister and the friend.

you, my dear, are and.
sweet and fire and
daring and soft and poems
and rain and lightning and
sunshine and brave
and shy and quiet and
booming and stubborn
and red and lively and
blue and burning.

you, my sister, are not everything.
but anything.

when the day comes where their smile
becomes more of a prayer than a greeting,

don't panic.

you don't have to kiss them or **** yourself,
you can just watch them smile for two years.

you will stop going to church.
It will no longer feel like where
you hold your faith.

don't panic.

you don't have to choose between heaven
and and hell, you can just watch
them smile for two whole years.

i didn't realize how much i needed you,

until i could no longer see you,

and you no longer looked up as you passed me.

and i am trying to understand,

i am trying to understand.

but it feels like a punch in the stomach

every time i think about

how you used to instinctively

grab my hand when you laughed.

i convinced myself that you loved me in the same way i would swear i heard hooves on my roof late on Christmas Eve. it was just so very real, until it wasn't.

like hydrangeas,
you must allow yourself to bleed.
to fade from one truth
to another like from
blue to purple to pink.