I see her in pictures, in flashes of memories of days now past. On rare occasions I catch a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror but just as I steady my focus she is once again gone. There are nights when I dream as she did. Wild, free, reckless and wonderful. She was spirited perhaps to a fault, but from my vantage point I would give anything to fly to high rather than be stagnantly still. I find loose papers sometimes in the back of a rarely used drawer in the office, or tucked haphazardly inside an old forgotten book.
I smile for in those moments I am holding proof of her existence. I read her words and each and every time I am moved with emotions. Emotion that floods my soul and causes me to in an instant grieve for her. For with her writing she paints. Paints with words just as the artist does his canvas. I read them over and over trying to find the spark of familiarity the point within that ignited such beauty and wisdoms. I can recall nothing.
Perhaps, I may one day be able to again, but not now. For now she lives and loves in fragments of my memory and dances in and out of my thoughts like a ghost haunting the mundane routine of my days. It is almost as if she is saying ” come on, chase me, come and find me, you know you want to” and then once again disappears into a sink of dirty dishes or a basket full of laundry.
I softly whisper, someday. Someday I will see you once again when I look in the mirror or when I sit at my desk and dare to pick up my pen….someday.
Although my voice trembles with a slight fear that I will not find her, that I will never know her again. Tears roll down my face when I think of her being gone forever never to return. For she had always been the light that guided me through the darkness. The hope in my despair and the gift I hoped to leave behind. I miss you I say out loud as I wipe my cheek ,breathe deeply and before I put her words away; I smile, I smile as I trace her signature…for it is now. It is here. I see, it is the same as mine.