Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick. How long has it been? It seems like I’ve been here for so long. I think I have lost track of the time. The day, week, month, and year. No one talks, it’s been so long, so lonely. The clock has hit five. I do not like five; five is when…. Who would be peering through a translucent window? Gazing as breezes brush against the trees. While the wind whistles calling the sun to follow it. The sun is enchanted by the winds song as he follows showing his hues of reds. (The color of fervor) The moon supplicates the sun to come back as she chases him, but he doesn’t listen. The moon stays high as the sky shows hues of azure. (The color of depression) and the clouds weep for the moon.

Yes, I was that speck of dust quiescent on the windowsill. Oh, I remember how I yearned to go outside, to elevate, and read the literature of the firmament. But now I feel like I’m nothing, dissipating into forever. Resting on the second hand of time. Time…. I remember,

Their invisible, can’t you see? Well I guess not, oh I wished to go outside, and how it happened I don’t know. I am a speck of dust on chaste angel wings. Who knew than an angel could come from the sky, onto earth? I wonder why, I ask myself, for she has not lost her wings. As I said they are invisible, her wings I mean. No one can see them but me; I don’t even think she knows.

How I miss those wings. I can envision them now, graying, flaccid, without its feathery white loftiness, no longer innocent and blissful. It is nice to talk and have someone listen. Even though she couldn’t see me, it felt like she listened anyway. I could be talking nonsensical and inconsequential words but. How could this have happened? Such luminescence and she always cared, why did this have to happen? I never thought of it, but I can now, I have time. I am resting on it, I have forever, I have eternity. Let me reminisce about the past.

I use to be happy like her, so happy, so naïve. When I lay on the ridge, the home where I was, I would have my reveries to go outside, that was my dream, my goal, my hope. Somehow, it happened, I was carried away but wings of an angel, (As I have mentioned before) and have been happy ever since. The days we would have, my new friend and I, and I remember the flowers. Oh, she always had flowers, roses and daffodils and chrysanthemums and carnations. Flowers of every shade and fragrance. It would make me dizzy sometimes, but I always enjoyed it. I waited for her to bring in lily’s (My favorite) and whenever I thought of it, it seemed by magic it was there! God did love everything he created; he loved me so much he sent an angel! Perfect in everyway. But maybe he wanted her back. That seraph was perfect. She would take walks at park collecting flowers of course, and smile. She would always smile. I thought her face would get stuck that way she smiled so much. Her laugh was perfect too, (Looking back on it, I’m beginning to think her perfect ways are too perfect.) it was wonderful, pure joy. The day she went to sit down, and lean back against a trees soft bark, I can never forget her words “I want to help you,” I don’t know if she was talking to me or to some unknown person. (Maybe she had identity dissociation disorder) she looks up and says it again, “I want to help you, because you’ve made me so happy,” was she talking to me? She smiles her sweet softly as she places her hands on her cheeks and says, “You’ve made me so happy, how can I repay you?” (She did that constantly, when she is happy, she places her hands on her cheeks, possibly to see how warm they are, or maybe if she’s so happy she wants to make sure she’s actually here and not dreaming in some sort.) still smiling still looking up, at the sunlight that filters through the summer leaves. I don’t think I will ever know whom she was talking to, but I like the fact that she was talking to me, having a conversation with me.

Why that night happened is another thing I do not know. I do not know how the accident happened. I don’t know if someone ran a light, or hit by a drunk driver, if they ran into a tree or off a bridge. I don’t know. I hear the beeping of a heart monitor and a machine breathing for her. I assumed the impact did it, but I do not know. (it seems to me that there are certain things that people, and dust fragments are not supposed to know. And personally, that upsets me.) Did it have to happen this way? Couldn’t God have done something more subtle? Why did he have to take her grandparents along with her? Or better yet, make her suffer. She can’t see, hear, feel, taste, or smell, anything anymore. Maybe God didn’t intend this; maybe the only thing keeping that angel from going back to heaven was her heart. Her brain would not work, but her heart kept going, it still wanted to know how she could repay that person that made her happy.

I might understand now, after a long time of contemplating, or maybe it has only been a few seconds, I don’t know anymore. The coldness outside tells me it is now winter, the bitter bite of frost beckoning, the pallor outside settling. I think I am yearning to go outside. That quote has come into my mind now “Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it” have I learned from my past? I’m not sure. But I want to go outside. Remembering her makes me hurt. What's happening? My vision is blurred, and I can’t see, why are my eyes wet? What are these? Tears, they are my tears, I know them well from her parents, they had these called tears often.

I’m not sure how I got here, but I seem to have landed on a petal, a lily, my favorite. “how can this be?” I ask myself “what is this?” I start to feel a breeze that carries the snow past me. The faintly shown sun hits every snowflake perfectly as they sparkle like diamonds gracefully and gently crossing a silken field of pallidness. My tears are being swept away and blend in with the snow, and I soon find myself in the mix of this diamond dust. “where am I? What is happening to me?” my mind starts to rush, thoughts swirling in a violent hurricane. My mind pours out and hits the wall, like a cascading waterfall. “I want to help you,” I say. “you have made me so happy, how can I repay you?” my inquires are answered, as I become apart of the diamond dust. I was but a speck of dust, waiting for my questions to become answers. I am but a speck of dust, at peace in the wind.

In Loving Memory