Her Memory Remains

Feeling and seeing are two different concepts of my body. One is more important to me than the other. Here, at this opening in the woods, this spot is felt more than it is seen. But without seeing, there is no chance of feeling, especially here. I can’t make up my mind any more. Which one has more importance?She had introduced this spot to me. All of these feelings, I thank her for. This was her place, these photographs that took their place in my mind, belong to her. She captured them and chose to pass them on to me, after her death. All of this is hers.This sky that revolves above this clearing in the woods belongs to only her. I am simply just a second set of eyes that is allowed to gaze upon the open photographs she left behind. I tilt my head back, letting this sky swallow me whole, and I dream.I see a never ending echo of dreams in this sky. They flow in, but dagger back through the hopes of the dreamer. I keep dreaming. I see the Gulf of Mexico now. The water reaches deep into the ocean floor with gentle waves tumbling over themselves. Sporadic waves foam over as they curl, reflecting into the sky as colorless cotton candy being picked apart and dropped into the atmosphere.This spot has always and always will be here. I drift into a movie of memories, closing my eyes. Her face is so clear to my mind. I don’t dare open my eyes, for I fear losing sight of her. Her presence is right before me, but I know she’ll never be back.She will always be here, cradled body six feet under. How could a place like this with so much colorful life sprouting from the ground, hold death beneath it?My eyes open and I feel her as I’m standing here. I feel the love that she had for this spot. I glide my eyes up towards the Gulf, admiring with envy the bond she had held with this place.My chest heaves as my lungs capture her aroma. The balance I held is now lost. My legs wobble like weak trees in a hurricane, and I plummet to the ground, overpowered. I throw my arms up to the Gulf, begging for somebody to grasp my hands, stabilizing me, before my body is torn apart by this hurricane.But, there’s no one here. I must be going crazy. My legs suddenly gain strength and I fight back against the imaginary winds. What’s happening to me?I rush the air to my lungs. Black and white spots cover my vision like a fuzzy TV screen. My shoulders rise as my lungs expand. The hurricane is gone. Her essence fills my lungs and warms my blood stream. She has her place inside me now.She travels through my veins, exposing my mind to un-wandered territory. I shut my eyes tightly, keeping my breathing steady. Soft voices are hard to recognize, but hers is bold.I know her delicate voice by heart. Strong and secretly powerful, she always spoke her mind. Curiosity creeps up on me. I start to wonder how such a delicate voice, so quiet and innocent, is so strong and meaningful at the same time.When reality consumes me, I can’t hear her voice. The only voice that speaks to me is nature’s voice. It’s the sound of branches creaking as they fight not to break loose, fragile leaves gripping the branches, and gusts of wind ripping through their paper-thin surface. The noises scratch at the inside of me, threatening to take her voice away as I panic. Sometimes reality has its grip on me, but not today. Today, panic is far behind me.If I’m not here, she will always remain. Her spirit dominates this spot. Her tears are the only raindrops that fall from the colorless cotton candy clouds. Her smile is the sunshine that beams with radiance from the massive star. She smiles much more than she cries. I like that.I can smell her golden brown hair, blowing within each breeze. The sweet scent of lavender wicks away from the tall, free moving pines. Her hair had always had a distinct smell of lavender.The streams of air drifting below my nose remind me of her long hair, stretching back in a perfect river of motion. Her hair let out a tint of caramel when the sun had hit it at certain angles. Each day, she had come here and let her silk hair flow in a river of caramel, flowing in unison with the echoes of the Gulf.The river of her caramel hair had a path opening into her mind. Day by day, it would stream over a new path and let her mind experience something new and remarkable. The new paths led straight to realizations that told her how to live life. The river would flow through the mind belonging only to her, and not the center mind belonging to the rest of the world.Realizations followed her through ever day that she was alive. Those realizations are the only thing I have left of her, and this spot too. On her last day, here at this place, her realization became the last stepping stone needed to finish her game of life. She had accomplished the search for the meaning of life.These words that make up her very last realization are what I cherish most. I keep them with me everywhere I go, but I never speak them out loud. That would be like stealing her thunder, blocking her rain from falling, or using them as if they are my own.

As I stand in reflection of her, I hear these words spoken, but only by her. She repeats these words to me, from her last day of humanity on earth. Her voice is clear today, clear like the Gulf.
“Life is more than who you are, so make who you are, more than life.” The inspiration from these words is invisible. She wanted to be the one to inspire these words to others. I always remind myself that I will not be the one to steal the roar of her caramel river.
Even though I can’t see her, I still feel her. The touch of the wind as it streaks across my skin is chilling. As her voice tells me these words, she warms me. The warmth of her aura crawls deep into my pores.
I take my hands and reach out for her. She’s the one I had been frantically reaching out for when I was overpowered by the hurricane. That was her that I was waiting for.
My arms fall back to my side like lifeless limbs. I raise my left hand to my cheek, smoothing down my skin. I feel the warmth crawling across my face from pore to pore. The tips of my fingers are cold as I brush them down my face. Her aroma steams through me, distracting me from the bitter, ice touch of my own hand.
Her words trace through my mind once more as I feel her burn through my veins. I continue to think about what’s more important, feeling, or simply seeing?

Her Memory Remains


Joined October 2007

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