Today my family looked at furniture
and I thought of you.
My mom doesn’t know that I anchor my hand
inside of hers when we are leaving places
because my eyes aren’t ready for the exit.
they’re painting pictures
of you and I between dining sets
preening ourselves in gilded mirrors,
entangled limbs and mouths
falling backwards into couches,
It’s easier to write about what was,
over a month ago.
It’s easier to not write at all,
when the pain capsizes
I still ache.
And I pray
for your happiness,
for someone to find your companionship,
for you to have hope,
in all things.
Not because I think it makes me a better person
or because I’ll be closer to God,
but because you have always been worthy
of all those things.
So when I find harbor in the small grouping
that is my family,
when I return to a unit,
it is not to hide away from every memory.
It’s to be able to walk through a room
with you in every nook and cranny
every cavity of my chest where I can still feel you
sighing and content,
and know that of all things you are
I am worthy of them, too.
I am worthy, period; even without you.