Excitedly, she talks of how she can't wait to attend her dream university and stay in love with her long distance boyfriend. And me, sitting quietly on her rug, cross-legged, watching her as she packs. Knowing all to well that her boyfriend has already broken his promises of fidelity. Knowing that I, her sister, have been the sole cause.

She was satin sheets and fading polaroids,

ink and woodsmoke and barnwood floors-

an old soul in a modern world-

forgotten.

You didn't save them. You let them die.

The words pounded her brain with each jolt of the train, memories flashing by as relentlessly as the passing terrain.

At the last stop, she disembarked, letting her feet carry her along a fading pathway.

It ended at the river.

Just feet away from the torrent were four markers bearing rough-carved epitaphs.

She stopped before the largest, which read, “Loving husband and father.” The image of a strong jaw and impossibly tender smile was trodden over by a pale lifeless face staring up from the rocky beach.

Next, twin memorials read, “Loving daughter” and “Loving son.” Giggles and soft blond hair filled her mind only to be chased away by confused, tear-filled eyes and terrified screams amid rushing water, an overturned skiff. The sounds tormented her, etched into her very soul.

Shuddering, she turned to the final marker: “Faithful companion.” A furry brown head nudged at her memories before dissipating to join the rest. The headstones lay solemn and steadfast, the only reminder of a life gone forever.

Cold, bone-achingly weary, the sorrow of the world on her shoulders, she’d carved them herself after burying her dead family in the hard-packed earth.

I used to think Elvis was cool. His style, his singing, the whole “King” package.

Then I learned how he was abusive, how he ripped off songs from people of color, how he fell to drugs just like all the rest.

I felt a bit sad. Until my best friend in high school picked up an acoustic guitar and introduced me to Johnny Cash, playing through his songs. He had his own demons, yet he seemed to overcome them rather than become them. I felt a bit better.

-----

I remember the first time I heard the Beatles. They sounded so different, somehow, and I was mesmerized.

Then I learned how they turned commerical, formed their own label, sued so many other small artists over a few familiar riffs, and became just another cold, corporate, proto-boy band.

I felt a bit sad. Until my partner introduced me to an entire forgotten catalog of 60′s progressive/psychedelic rock from bands I would jokingly refer to as “the flora and fauna mixups” - The Hollies, The Turtles, Strawberry Alarm Clock, The Byrds, Captain Beyond, Country Joe and the Fish, The Moody Blues, and more. Suddenly the “different” sounds I had enjoyed became a much bigger landscape with so many roots. The bugs could keep their megastatus; I liked these little bands better.

-----

When I was little I honestly thought Michael Jackson was two different people - a young black man, who had died somehow, and an older white lady who had taken his place as a kind of “tribute” act.

Then I learned about...well, just everything. Michael Jackson just has so many issues.

I felt a bit sad. All that music and legendary pop beat, yet I couldn’t get behind the singer. Until my friends shifted me over to Prince - and how truly talented he was, not just at singing but at guitar. He had some crazy identity changes too, and definitely some rock star issues, but he remained himself through-and-through. I felt a bit better.

-----

There are many stars in the sky to follow at night. It’s not always the brightest ones you need to navigate; sometimes it’s that second one to the right, or the constellations formed by so many smaller ones, or the ones that burn out quickly but leave their trails for more to follow.

I told myself I was going to stop liking you.

That I was going to move on and get rid of this feelings that bubble in my chest.

But I can’t seem to keep the smile off my face when our eyes meet.

You make me happy without having a reason

And you make me want to hold on the warmth I feel

Whenever you’re around.

You stood next to me today, side by side, arms touching

And I felt the same warmth spread throughout my body.

I looked you in the eyes, captivated by how the greens, blues, and browns spiraled like a million galaxies.

I wanted the warmth to last a little longer

For our gazes to be shared for one more second

For your body to press against mine for another moment.

But then you pulled away and it was all gone.

Why do I keep falling for you?

Do you know what it feels like to hold a dying person? To feel the warmth of their precious blood run red across your lap? To hear the pain in their labored breath, knowing they will stutter into impending stillness?

Or can you comprehend what it's like when their fingers suddenly sag as they no longer possess the strength to hold your hand? Or that quiet noise they make when the very last shard of air is crushed from their lungs, the one that echoes through my skull like thunder?

No, you don't. How could you?

There is no way to imagine the crippling agony that stalks me by light of sun and moon. The nightmare of an image that clings to me tighter than skin. It pierces my bones, scraping them hollow with its icy fingers. And my flesh decays under its damp touch. And my body shakes from the spreading chill.

Do you know what it feels like to hold a dying person? To feel the warmth of their precious blood run red across your lap? To hear the pain in their labored breath, knowing they will stutter into impending stillness?

My soul festers with wounds that time itself knows no remedy for.My soul festers with wounds that time itself knows no remedy for. You cannot know this pain. But you will.

You may doubt me now and I under why. You might think it can't happen to you, but you cannot be everywhere at once. Someday somewhere I will catch up to those you love and then, only then, will you know my pain.

On that day when you feel their soul wrenched from their body as you stand witness know it was I who cut the thread. It was I who took them from you and you'll only have yourself blame.

You will be powerless in the face of death just as I was.

Know this and know you will be alone.

I don’t remember how it all started anymore.

But I remember,

It was raining.

So every now and then

I realize I think of you

When it rains and

it's like

you're still holding my hand through the streets

and splashing in the puddles

and being

human.

i think about you

when it rains

because everytime

the raindrops

splatter on my window,

i would remember

how we would watch the rain fall

together.

we would stay indoors

and listen to the soft music

of the rain hitting the roof,

or sometimes close our eyes

and fall asleep

with the windows open.

the rain would be our song,

we needed nothing else.

we would laugh

as we made a contest of

which rain drop would go the fastest,

rain was our bond,

our love in physical form,

and i cannot express it

in any way with words;

rain was our communication.

we lived in a world

of our on fantasies,

on those rainy days.

while everyone else

wished for it to go away,

we would make our own world,

write our own stories,

sing our own tunes.

it was like rain

created a new dream for us;

we would lose ourselves

in the soft beat

and wisk away

to our own imagination —

our young love

would shine bright.

but then i lost you;

and now everytime i see the rain,

i think of you

and all of the time we shared.

i think of our laughter

and our jokes,

and our love;

i miss us.

but you’re not here anymore

and rain brings just a memory.

yet i don’t want it to be;

my tears

from mourning the past

cannot melt

with the precious memories

of us.

so when the rain comes tomorrow,

i will take up my pen.

i will write my own world,

without you;

the rain will be my melody,

my laughter,

my jokes,

and my own self love.