You attained all love. At some point or other
I think you must have reached the zenith. There
was no coming back from it, I think, returning to
your formal life. I followed your footsteps,
as only a child could.
I don't know how it all came about or why
you left the way you did. I only knew you'd gone,
or if you left willingly. I picture it all in fine
detail: The flowers spread out on the front lawn
in hearts, mapping a story of your life.
And I find myself recalling events: The days you
spent on earth nursing people back to health.
The irony is, you saved everyone but yourself -
how could you?
I'll never forget the hospital ward, you were
placed with the elderly. You stood out -
you were out of place. And then putting on
a death mask. When you closed your eyes for
the final time, I think I must have closed mine,
too, and for a long time afterwards. It's all so
tragic how disease ate away at you at 39,
and me, a child of 12.
Now I fill my life with objects that remind
me of you: The sunshine and the sea breeze,
smooth pearl, shiny young goddess.