visual locket of youth

while scrubbing away

the previous day, I find

I miss you. Me. Your lady 

plushbottom (because I

sit so still) listening as you 

sang, when the moon hits

your eye like a big pizza pie,

that’s amore.” The look in your 

eyes, a joy I struggle find when 

I miss her these days–you calling

me girlfriend, even though I know 

The love you share is evident in

the memories I keep closer, a

V

fmf: miss

sometimes grief is sneaky. You hear an artist, which triggers a memory of when you weren’t sad. Or skeptical of joy. I have this memory of being with my grandparents and my grandpa was singing Frank Sinatra and the joy in his eyes was a glimpse into God’s heart. His joy for me. It was beautiful and still is.

And another with my grandma taking a bit of toilet paper and making it fit to my head with a red lipstick cross. In my memory I still see flickers of that same joy in her eyes. The lipstick seems like a blessing: you go and bring some healing to people. We were pretending to be nurses.

I love when random memories flow out I don’t really think about and then start writing. And crying. I’m thankful God gave me this outlet and that he understands I’m missing my youth so much that I don’t get it. Everything is so heavy, but he is gentle and understanding. I love him. 

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