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
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.