when power turned to sunlight

eulogy

they asked me to write and so i write about the death of you...

the way your scent fills the room as i pack away your worn out button-downs and burgundy collars,

the way my feet dragged up to your box...

the way your smile reached the bottoms of each ear lobe,

the way salty tears dance upon my cheeks in view of your cold, spiritless hands,

the way i still hear your laugh in empty halls,

the way i still cry when i think about you.

and so i closed my book, put down my pen, and prayed they never ask me to write again.

when all creativity sparks cold thoughts, you lose sight of what's right.

you neglect the past.

and in these cold moments,
i neglected the fact that it was you who told me to write,
who gave me scenarios to expand upon,
creations of worlds i never knew.
stories upon stories sat shut up within my own mental cupboard
until you pulled them out.

you pulled me out
of moments i lay to rest now
that should never have resurrected
and replace their lives with fictional circumstance.

so how could i betray you like that?
how could i destroy your smile and trash your scent in the emotion of despair?

how could i pray away my gift to the one who gave me it
in grief of the one who showed me how to use it?

i am selfish.

i always have been.
so selfish i would rather throw every part of you away than savor what you have left me with.

so i write this to you.

i remember you!
and every angle of your strong hands
and every feeling of your gentle touch
and every spirit filled bone
and every encouraging word.

and so i open this book
and pick up this pen
and pray to God He never take your voice away from my heart.