i close my eyes hoping to catch what i have left of you. your ghost seeping into conversation with my broken mother. i was thirteen, praying to god (not only to find a way to get you back, but He was the last thing you taught me). i used to read your books looking for answers. i held the complexity of words in my innocent palms hoping to find reasoning. i remember that september evening after the viewing hiding in my bedroom because i didn’t know how to face strangers and their utmost sincere apologies that failed to bring you back. i couldn’t face the fragile sign written across my mother’s shattered face. but i knew the first time my trembling hands felt secure with prayer. i spent the night of august 31st laying on the floor next to yours and moms bed crying myself to sleep. i remember looking at the stars hoping God would know how much we needed you to be with us, but i guess things don’t work that way. i never thought i would be eighteen and not even remember your smile or your voice.

-8/31/2006