Where do they go?
The memories that you shared
with your partner,
your person.
The moments,
that existed,
only between you and he,
that now exist,
only inside your heart.
That time,
that place,
that way he used to tilt his head
to the side
or fold his arms across his chest
when he was looking at me
like I was nuts.
Or the way he laughed,
with his whole body,
from the shoulders all the way down,
shaking and falling forward,
his blue eyes sparkling,
with wonder,
and delight.
Where
does
that
go …
When your person is gone,
dead,
no longer here on earth,
to share it with,
to laugh with,
to say to:
“Remember that time when ….”
Where does it go?
You have your memories,
they all say.
Cherish the memories,
they tell me,
in their clueless nature.
But what is a memory,
when shared with nobody?
What is a moment,
when stifled inside your heart,
silently eroding,
turning into nothing.
Where does it go?
It just floats.
Waits.
Hangs there.
An unfinished sentence.
A breath without exhale.
A gymnast with no beam.
Just hanging.
In mid-air.
Nowhere to go,
nowhere to release.
The memories,
they live inside us,
those that are left behind.
But if we aren’t careful with them,
if we let our death-fearing society dictate
our honoring of them,
then soon those memories,
will start to die.
And then we will lose,
not only our person who died,
but all that came with them.
The reasons we loved them.
I won’t let that happen.
Not ever.
Where do they go?
The memories.
The answer is,
they don’t go anywhere.
They stay.
If you let them.
If you care for them.
If you tell their story.
They stay.
