Death Didn't Take You Away

Many years ago I wrote you a letter. I cant remember what it said, or where I put it...just that is was the most important and life changing piece of paper that I ever held. I put it in an envelope and I started to form a plan to safely ensure that I could say my peace. You never got to read it, I never got to send it. This world just couldn't let you stay. What would I tell you now? I would tell you that my whole life there was a hole inside of me. Something like the way a flame burns paper, it just kept growing and evolving in a singed untamed mess. Somehow when you died you seemed more attainable, closer than ever before. I would shuffle my preset radio stations asking the next song to be from you, a message...something to fill the blank. Staring at mirrors for what seemed like hours in a trance, watching my own face melt before my tired eyes and just hoping to find a glimpse of you in myself. When I was lonely and lost I would drive to your grave, sometimes in the middle of the night, and sit there. I never said a word, and it never made me feel any more whole. I never blamed you, even when I was supposed to, for the way my life played out. Things all work out and our hearts and fate lead us right where we should be. I'm all grown up and the wound is still there, but I no longer need you to heal it. Yet sometimes I wish you could see, I wonder what you would think, and I hurt because I know you can't. Would you be proud of who I am and embrace all my quirks, sensitivity and insanity?  I like to think that death took you to a place where you can see me and appreciate all that you've made possible. To be honest, when Im all alone driving at night and there are no other cars on the road, I pick a star and I claim it as you. I assume that star is shining brighter than any of the other stars specifically for me. Its silly, its childish, but it gets me through.