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Your face shares bits and pieces with those of your siblings.
For fleeting moments when my eyes pass their faces,
I can pretend that they are you.
We are standing here in your house,
The one you never got to see.
I'm trying my best to pretend that it's you standing there,
As I note how similar you look to your younger brother.
But I'm struggling.
I long to hear the familiar ring of your voice,
Your southern drawl washing over me like a warm peace.
I want so badly to hear your booming laughter,
The one so lively and bright, that never failed to pull me out of
The various dark holes I'd find myself in.
For a second, I think that I do,
But it's just your sister.
You were looking forward to these days;
Death is merciless.
How is it that you aren't here?
How can it be true that you'll never be here again?
I saw you one day and you were gone the next.
This wound will never truly be healed.
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