I hadn't a chance to know you while you existed, in fact, I hadn't known you existed until you drifted away, far away from this earth.  So delicate, so ever longing to be at one with yourself, this world run on electronic gossip and urban dictionaries; You left a wolf to this world of sheep.  To hold your head in my palm would have resulted in the forever shutting of your eyes; The forever shutting out the standards set by those whom have yet to figure out that their mouths don't really have legs, that they can't run forever on a tongue that can be cut out and fed to a group of lost bears or boys.  To hold your head in my palm would have resulted in the reassurance that the birth of you was the birth of a universe because what's this world to you.  The insight that we are born with all of our origins intact and as we grow, we lose sight of where or heart lies.  In the process of trying to find it's home, we end up failing other parts of ourselves.  The cycle of recycle and rebirth.  And if ever your mouth would have opened up to my ears, I would have listened to a story spoken by the wise.  There once was a wolf who strayed from his pack to go live with man because to him, staying alive was all he gave a **** about.  He ran and scurried far enough to allow himself to be caught and after so many years of being caught, he'd forgotten he ever once lived as a wolf.  One day when the wolf was out hunting with his owner, he went to retrieve his prey, come to find, his prey was the leader of his pack.  While the now called "dog" whimpered and said his "I'm sorry's" the leader spoke "your hunger and will to stay alive will come and go but my dignity is here to stay, I am a woman of many, of free will and this life has yet to take that from me."  The knowing of your every day, waking up as if when you were asleep, somebody disembodied you, being quick to clean up their mess when your breathing fastened, leaving pieces out and bolts unscrewed in the rush.  A story told by all the flys that take off backwards, a fact that people cannot live unconformed due to the simple sense of stumbling while not walking forward.  I beg you to create a fire in ones bones being hugged by bed sheets tonight.  I beg you to crawl in through my sternum, rest your head on my heart, drape yourself across my ribcage; Let yourself be felt as you wait out this storm.  And maybe someday you'll come back to us, missing the city you grew up in or maybe someday you'll send us a postcard letting us in on your journey, letting us know that you made it home safely.  Stating, to this earth, you are never returning because again, a world to a universe is nothing more than a pen to paper and my darling, you left, a wolf in this world of sheep.
                        
                         -S. Mia
                 December 31 2014