This year’s road has been rocky. My commitment has been everything short of consistent. I fall, time and time again, and scrape my knees; sometimes, I run out of band-aids.
The benevolent souls that help to patch us up can’t rid us of our scars but only help some wounds to heal into a faint memory living on our skin.
While this moment in time will remain just that, for now, I soak up every second in the sun and let it kiss the bridge of my nose. Dark rain clouds surround my head like smog, and it makes my beloved rainy days blurry.
Your walking boots, filled with the tears that trickled down our cheeks on that rainy day, can never comfortably fit my wandering feet. When I slip them on, I can only imagine that they will feel like they don’t belong to my kindred sole, but I’ll tread every step just like you both have done.
While thunder cracks around us, I can only hear your laugh, but I never can forget the rhythmic tempo of your sobs. Maybe this world has lost you, but open our arms remain.
To you, Lynlee Derrick, the stars in the sky: you deserve this world, and not just to look upon. This rotating globe at your fingertips spins on your axis. Not only do we look up to your grace, we see you looking down, guiding us every step of the way.
To you, Abby Wright, the Sun and the center of our Milky Way: you are more than this life and the next. You have seen so much life grow around you from the fertility of your labor, and how beautiful your gardens must be. You inspire us to flourish and you encase everyone with the warmth of your own selflessness.
We kiss your cheeks as you wipe your eyes, and I can’t help but think of when the city lights will drown out the wonders of your light. Some day, in a matter of hours, you will both continue on to a life grander than this one, and we will be left to carry the torch that you so graciously sustained for us all of these years.
To you, Allie Beaumont, the water that we survive off of: you fill up a lonely space with a rush of encouragement and good intentions; your love is a never-ending tidal pool that I could only dream of swimming in.
While three-hundred sixty-five days pull pages off the calendar, we will watch the months fly by until it is our time. You and I, the potential we hold, so graciously given to us from the stars and the Sun, is the powerful energy running through the air that we breathe.
To myself, the land that they can stand on: a stability that might choose to crumble. This road has been rocky. My commitment has been everything short of consistent. I fall, time and time again, and scrape my knees; sometimes, I run out of band-aids. But every day I remember the endless amount of words I could use to describe the privilege Allie and I have to be taught by the brightest beings beyond our atmosphere.
Allie will be my sun, and I’ll be her stars; we can never fill out both of your walking boots, so we’ll have to wait until we all align.