Let’s start with the memory of the first day in January of this year. She said “I have a feeling this year will be a hard one.” How dare that psychic pisces say that…. Her predictions are never wrong.
Let’s start with the fact that she was right. This year has been hard - knock the wind outta you kind of hard - that space where you don’t know if your breath will kick back in kind of hard.
Your breath - that natural rhythm of lungs doing their job of keeping the tempo akin to the breaths of waves. What is an ocean with out it’s lullaby of in and out, in and out?
How can seconds feel like years? How can years feel like seconds?
In that forever moment of a short circuit of body detaching from brain detaching from being- will life return?
Not just life, but living?
Or has that last breath been robbed from me as I take my final bow to this world, tunnel vision drapes it’s final curtains - no on-chore or standing ovation.
How can not one but two lives in this household kiss the lips of death? How can that grim reaper flirt with this home like a lover worth running towards?
How can we know the scent of the river of styx? Like a stench you can’t get out of your nose - like how smell brings you right back to a memory, or a nightmare, or both.
Let’s not forget the moments that were miracles.
Let’s not forget the seasons that sunshine kissed our skin.
Let’s not forget that this year is already passing.
Let’s not forget that time heals,
That phantoms can fade to ghosts,
Ghosts can fade to feelings,
Feelings can flow freely.