Imagine if I was given one moment,
just a single slice of my past.
I could hold it close forever,
and that moment would always last.

I'd put the moment in a safe,
within my hearts abode.
I could open it when I wanted,
and only I would know the code.

I could choose a time of laughing,
a time of happiness and fun.
I could choose a time that tried me,
through everything I've done.

I sat and thought about what moment,
would always make me smile.
One that would always push me,
to walk that extra mile.

If I'm feeling sad and low,
if I'm struggling with what to do.
I can go and open my little safe,
and watch my moment through.

There are moments I can think of,
that would lift my spirits everytime.
The moments when you picked me up,
when the road was hard to climb.

For me to only pick one moment,
to cherish, save and keep,
Is proving really difficult,
as I've gathered up a heap!

I've dug deep inside my heart,
found the safe and looked inside,
there was room for lots of moments,
in fact hundreds if I tried.

I'm building my own little library,
embedded in my heart,
for all the moments spent with you,
before you had to part.

I can open it up whenever I like,
pick a moment and watch it through,
My little library acts as a promise,
I'll never ever forget you

This man taught me everything,
That I needed to know,
But I never really listened,
I thought I knew it all.

He gave me love,
Even when I really didn't want it,
And he touched my life,
In a way I cannot describe.

He taught me right from wrong,
And I can honestly say,
The day he left,
I wasn't that strong.

I felt like there was no more fire,
To ignite anymore,
That the darkness won,
Over my inner light.

He will be missed dearly,
Because he made a mark,
On all of our hearts,
His name written in permanent ink.

For all those times I left it unsaid,
I want to thank him.
Thank him for being there for me,
For being patient even when I made it difficult.

It's hard to believe,
That he is gone now,
Somewhere where I cannot reach,
But I am certain I will meet him again in Heaven.

Because when tomorrow starts without him,
Don't think we're far apart.
For every time I think of him,
He's right here in my heart.

I do not deal well with death/illness/suffering. For someone who always seems to know what to say,
when it comes to this, I am at a loss.

I am certain this is so
because I know all too well
there is nothing to say.
Deafening silence.
There is no right thing.
No words to make you feel better.  
There is no consolation prize.
With sadness in my eyes,
I have nothing else to offer.
Just these two arms and lots of love.

Sometimes (most times)
that is not enough.
These two arms can't take away the pain
and trust,
it is not for lack of trying....
I try. ::sigh:: I try....

And if I say "I'm sorry"
that just might REALLY **** you off.
You think I'm sorry for your condition,
like it's my fault or my decision.
I know it's not, I know.
Truth is, I'm sorry I could not give you more.

I wish I had more.
All I have is these two arms.
No words.
Lots of Love.

It's not enough.

It was like any other piece of jewellery
Made from a thin chain and built to string many memories
The very first token of our love
A flower, for the day we met
A porcelain cup, for the first cup of coffee you made me
An open book for the days, when we worked side by side at the local library
A red car, the same one you would give me rides on
A pair of silver bells, for the day we both said "I do"
A small cottage, like the house we built using only our two hands
A rattle to celebrate the birth of our first child
Roses to mark a 10 year anniversary

It didn't seem like much but meant a great deal
So how could you give it away?
Look for a new owner already?
Slap it on to another woman's wrist
Whose eyes are cold as her heart

You don't riddle my thoughts in the way that you used to,
back when all I saw on the inside of my eyelids was your face.
Slowly I have moved forwards,
I have made progress and become the person you always wanted to see me be.
But sometimes I still think of you and it feels like a weight is pulling on my heart,
and I get ****** back into the void of missing you.
It's not a feeling dissimilar to the longing of another beside you,
however paired with the craving for that person is the undeniable knowledge that they will never be with you.
It took me a long time to realise that;
you're not coming back,
you're gone forever.
They say acceptance is the first step in moving on,
but what if I don't want to move on?
You are a piece of the person I am today,
you are the part of me that glows and gives me strength to say
"I can do this."
you are the voice in my head telling me
"You are better than this."
you are the smile on my face when I realise I am on the road to recovery,
the worst has passed and one day this will all be just a memory.
So even though you're not coming back,
and even though sometimes I think of you and my eyes blur from tears,
and even though you can never see me become the person you wanted me to be,
I carry your strength and positivity with me always,
you are in my past,
but you are also a piece of my recovery,
which means you are in my future too.

Amy Helen Smith – 1928 – 2015

You had years until your 100th birthday, we’re sad you had to go.
But now you’re with your husband and the angels that love you so.
They’re going to look after you and make you feel at home.
They’re going to keep you safe and help you not feel alone.
You’ll always be missed by everyone, you’ll be loved by us all.
We’re staying strong for you and we’re trying to stand tall.
But your departure hit us hard, harder than we expected.
And when we heard you died, it was even harder to accept it.
It wasn't your time but you were torn from life.
Maybe you were needed up there,
But were still unaware as why.

Tom said that my name sounds like an exotic flower meets medicine.
Tom said the love he witnessed in me gave him hope.
Tom said he'd make it to my wedding, because I promised he would be the flower boy.
Tom said he had a dream that I was kidnapped and he was trying to save me.
That was the last thing Tom said to me.

And I'm writing about him because I don't know what else to do to remember him;
to give him some sort of tribute of my emotion outside of clutching my chest;
to even allow myself to think about him at all.
But writing is how we met, so this is where I will keep him alive.

Tom had a full name that sounded like an old-fashioned fancy inventor.
He spoke with quick Irish wit, and every time we messaged I would imagine the day
that I could ask him to get on the phone with me so I could hear that accent for myself,
and I tried to picture his face from the two pictures I ever saw of it,
and I daydreamed about seeing a kooky smile while he held out his arms yelling,
"Duckie!!!"
He never called me anything else,
and I never came up with a nickname for him quite as splendid.

Tom told me to find him a Russian man.
He told me he had a dream that he had an unreciprocated crush on me.
(I told him I would never be so rude about it, though.)
It was apparently meant to be, however, when he "accidentally flirted" from autocorrect once.
One time he messaged me at 2am just to ask what "totes" meant.
He sent me terribly-drawn doodles of me, him, and ducks (of course)
that made him laugh so hard at himself he could hardly type,
and those times were my favorite.
I'm thinking about putting one of them on my wall, but it makes me sad to think I couldn't tell him about it.

I never did tell you what I do in the mornings, about the things I hate the most, or about all my tiny ticks.
If I wasn't so ill, I might have remembered to message you more -
then again, I figured we had the rest of our lives for our friendship.
That phrase feels sickeningly familiar in my mouth.
Colorado is where my friends go to die, it seems.

"How's your lade?"
"You are the dotiest together."
"You two are my sunshines."
"Your love gives me hope in the world."

Late nights filled with panic and unease, the kind only love can instill in you,
and calm messages back from him that told me to keep doing what I'm doing -
she's going to be alright.
And I'm trying to believe that, Tom, I'm trying to believe that with all my heart
but you're six feet under from the same thing that threatens to take my beloved from me
so I'm not sure how to believe you now.
You don't know what I would give to hear from you tonight,
to hear, "she's going to be alright, you're doing all the right things"
to hear, "I'm going to be alright, you're doing all the right things."
I told you I would fight for you with all I have, but I knew what I have isn't a lot right now.
I couldn't do much for you.
I hope with all my might it's enough for her.
(and finally, since the night I was told they pulled the plug, I can cry.)

I didn't get to say goodbye. two weeks before you took yourself from me,
I sent you "goodnight" and "I miss you" and "sleep good" and "we'll talk soon"
…I suppose all but the last is close enough.
(I'll probably always carry a pocket of regret that six days before that,
I never received a notification to your reply.)

you once wrote to me about love and small fonts
and I will never forget the first time i read it and my heart stopped
because you Knew, you understood when I have never even told you.
I'm chasing so many tails of uncertainty now, my dear,
but I will try to remember I can find that I am Loved.

I dance of minuets of the nights
Of grieving hearts and lonely souls
Trapped in time and in their sorrows