Her last words are still echoing in my ears,
as if they danced off her tongue only seconds ago.
“Take care of yourself, honey. I love you.”

Her voice like the most beautiful cursive
Tracing words through the air,
Every word painted in silver script.

Now she speaks from heaven.
Her words are the rays of sunshine, telling me to be happy;
The rain, her song to calm me;

Rainbows, encouraging me to seek beauty,
even on the most gloomy of days.
But it isn’t the same.

So much of her life was left unwritten.
Her radiant smile lingers on past pages.
As if waiting to reappear on the next. 

I keep a picture of her, before the cancer, on my bedside table.
And her bathrobe folded on my bed
As if I’ll turn the page, and find her silver words dancing across it.