Thursday, March 5, 2009
After he died, he came to see me just as he had promised. He talked to me of trivial matters, ardently attempting to evade the true reason for his visit. He spoke of this ethereal world where stillness fills your soul; where children’s laughter reverberates in your ears. Where there are forty-seven sunsets. A world redolent of summer rain with a tinge of pomegranate, added in for bitter-sweetness. He talked of all these things that were pleasant but rather insignificant. His words weaved around the treacherous crevices of our conjoined, quadruplet chambers, but we both were unable to halt our minds from wandering to that place: it was night, one filled with heavy droplets of rain, but neither one of us could distinguish our tears from the storm. He was holding me in his strong, sun weathered arms, and I could not fathom ever letting go. We both knew the inevitable was nearing like a train inching toward its destination. He gently wiped away my tears, kissed my cherry lips and said goodbye— walking toward that infinite light, its glow forming a diaphanous halo atop his head.