There's a part of me that still wants to carry you with me, and it's the part that longs for you when night has fallen and I'm all alone. It's the part of me that cares for you, and will always care for you. But it's also the part of me that weighs me down with sorrow and empty dreams, and it's so hard to walk alone carrying the knowledge that you don't want me.
So I pull this part of me into the light and I hope that soon, just like the warm sun on my skin, all will be absorbed, all will be recycled, and it will soon become particles within my body that only strengthen me.
In Paris, buffered in the muffled silence of Notre Dame, I stood beneath the stained glass windows on stones older than any grief I've ever known, and from the dense layers of marbled tiles and golden cornices, I sensed a weariness burdened by the weight of men's prayers.
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask for relief for my own suffering, to ease my heart. But when I lit the candle and set it down, your name came to my lips instead. I don't know if it was a prayer or if it was just a fleeting thought that I sent to you on the Parisian winds, and I don't know if any higher being out there actually heard what I said in my heart that day, but I want to say it to you now:
My dear, I care about you and I always will. I wish you happiness and health, and all good things. I hope the darkness you endure won't last, and I give you all the strength you need to fight through the day. You are good and beautiful and strong, and I wish I could have been part of your life. Thank you for everything you ever shared with me, good and bad. Back to our beautiful lives we go, ready for the next adventure.
