I have nothing to say. But my words could fill the sky - a cloud of sentiment and tribute too blue and heavy for this ceiling of the world. Will it crash? How could I know? I've never been here before.
I can hear your living. I hear it rasp and catch and sigh. I think your living sounds like dying and I think yesterday was the last time I will ever see your eyes. Such spark they used to have - flirtatious grin and joy-streaked future. Spark! You're really going to burn it up, up there, aren't you? Tear up those clouds like a carnival child.
Last night we spilled the table to overflowing with you - patina of beginnings and middles and ends...these time machine stamps of your imprint on a world unaware of what it's loosing. The forever that danced in your face, no thought of here today - that is what we must catch and hold onto. The forever beyond the closing.
Should we count your breaths? Should we count out each second? Count it blessing even in the wounding? Should we capture the last? Bottle it up as a beacon of your spirit and settle it on the window still, a playmate for a peek-a-boo sun?
I don't know how to stand beside you and small talk like you're listening. It's not in me to pour myself out for you in any way but this black and white moulding of words. If you'll take it, it is yours. This word. This goodbye. This heart that has for you enough love to fill the world.
I have nothing to say. But my words could fill the sky.