Friendship

When you held out a hand to stop me, I protested. I wanted to get away from the taunts and jeers as quickly as possible and panicked when you not only ignored my protests, but grabbed my shoulder and turned me around to face my tormentors.

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‘Grief’

I feel your loss most keenly in those moments between sleeping and waking, when dreams have not quite given way to my new, bleak reality and my mind tricks me into thinking that you are still by my side. 

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‘Prayer’

I still remember when you held me in your arms, both of us illuminated by a full, bright moon determined to show us the best possible versions of ourselves. I was at once the most powerful and the most vulnerable creature in this world. Sometimes I still visit the tiny island where I felt your lips on my neck for the first time, and I can feel them still, a faint ghostly tingling as I turn my face towards the night sky, hoping, praying, that my home did not claim your life as my family insists. That I will see you, an unexpected surprise on the sand, mooring a boat with your head tossed back in careless laughter. But I have not seen you for almost twelve full cycles of that moon, now, and whenever I hear the waves crash against the rocks on particularly stormy nights, hope slips a little further out of reach from my heart. Continue reading