Lost.

Like sand at the bottom of the ocean, buried in an infinite sea, discarded to suffer the fate of being forgotten. Unable to write more pages of the world’s story, left behind in the minds of those who have moved on. Each memory slipping away like little raindrops, sometimes slow, sometimes falling through a downpour.

Dead.

Like the worms sitting still on wet pavement after a storm. So small, so insignificant, yet so impactful. Unmoving. Cleansed by the streams of water trickling through the cracks. Fate’s final gift to her.

Marks.

What people are so desperate to leave on the world that they only shroud it with scars.

She didn’t leave any scars. She was an artist, and the world was her canvas, and she painted the most beautiful things onto it.

Gone.
Like the rare warm breezes gliding through a cold winter’s day. Letting the snow dance and bringing the trees to life for a few ephemeral moments. Never to return, leaving behind the things they had touched. Her children.

Me.

The wooden staircase. Where I sat waiting for her to return from every chemotherapy session. The crack in the bottom of her bedroom door. Where I warned her when to put her wig on. The black leather couch. Where my dad told me that she was gone. That we had lost her forever.

The fireflies come only before summer’s departure. I can see them now, twinkling above me, the grass tickling my face and cradling me as I gaze at the stars. My eyes wander as I try to think?to grasp at my escaping memories of her. I won’t let them slip through my fingers, not like she had. They flicker through my mind like the lights of the fireflies, fleeting but powerful.

Pushing me on the swings at the park. Holding hands at the beach while the ocean licked our toes. Picking blackberries in the garden.

I turn to my left, and see the house sitting on the hill leagues away, so dark at this time of night. A different house in a different town in a different world in a different life, one that she was never a part of. Soon I’ll have to go back inside and plaster a smile to my face and pretend that it’s alright for those who have moved on. Their memories have fled from them, rarely ever summoned.

But for me, cancer is a poison that will never fade.