I'll Lose You in the Stars

G-o-n-e;

Gone:

G-o-n-e

Gone

Gone was a four-letter word that drooped over a vast chasm, a syllable devoid of sound, perpetually reverberating the ache of silence throughout the cavities that lacerated my heart.

When my dreams were illustrated with broken crayons and my composition books were crusted with Lisa Frank stickers, until the time teeth were liberated from braces and boys were cured from cooties, and my education was striped in purple and white, I never really knew that gone was a word with punctuation.

Gone began with a G, but it held no promise of an end. It was a four-lettered house hunched over an eroding cliff composed of memories spoiled by greasy fingerprints leftover from the ghosts of my transgressions and insecurities.

Gone began with a G, but it held no promise of an end. There was no stopper in the bottle and I watched everything pour out of the world and slosh through the four-letter residency without a fence, and dump into the abyss that sang vociferous canticles of chance and vacuity.

Gone was a four-letter flood of health, safety, security, purpose, and life, of relationships, dreams, opportunities, belongings, and money that continually rolled over the world's unpunctuated bluff. I watched them clot beneath the crevices beneath the doors of its structure, only to have the doors forced open by the hands of fate and have them smash through the back windows and rush towards the mouth opened at the end of the precipice.

Gone:

G-o-n-e

Gone-I knew it began with a G, but how did it end?

My father answered me.

Gone is a four-letter word that begins with a G; it is finished with the stamp of my victory. Gone is concluded with a semicolon- a declaration of the beginning of a beautiful eternity, a new sentence that is marked beforehand by the conclusion of death.

Gone will be the remembrance of the cold afflicting your hands from when those holding them left. Gone will be the shards of insecurities tormenting you that you pitched at your heart like a dartboard. Gone will be the burning of your flesh where you were seared by brands of animosity. Gone will be the film of bitterness coating your tongue, the smoke of war lingering in your lungs.

Gone:

G-o-n-e;

Gone- It begins with a G, and where does it end?

It ends with the destitute; it starts with the miraculous. 

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