The pieces of me.
The tiny specks of dust from a piece that was once alive and vibrant.
The soul in the shadow of the departed friends I leave behind in a somber quiet place of a memory.
To say goodbye, to be the bearer of that last breath when your heart was meant to heal, costs you.
A toll you delay for a tomorrow you hope to never face, or a quiet moment at the end of each day when you ask yourself if it was all worth it?
There is always a wrinkle in time during each push of the pink where I add a personal wish for a peaceful journey. There is a soft whisper of “Goodbye” and an “I’m sorry” for each of those hundreds of souls I have helped lay to rest.
Some I knew and loved as my own and others that were never named and never loved, but at that moment they are all the same.
I am always sorry for the ending – the loss of a tiny heartbeat in a world of often over looked possibilities. The loss of someone who might have mattered, or who mattered more than life can measure. The passing of a being that was miraculous and fleeting like hope in a prayer.
There is always a moment of being grateful to know them and always a relief of a peaceful ending.
'Tis Better To Have Loved and Lost
Taking A Stand and Facing Consequences
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