Almost, but not quite.
Almost, but not quite.
I can feel her, but I cannot see.
Almost, but not quite.
I yearn for her; where is she?
Almost, but not quite.
I crave the touch of her fingertips
brushing teardrops away from my cheeks.
Almost, but not quite.
I miss how she would barrel into me,
tackle me to the ground and laugh.
Almost, but not quite.
I ache for her eyes,
for the way they would stare into my soul
and read me like no other could.
Almost, but not quite.
Her memory drives me insane.
Almost, but not quite.
I see her wide grin and outstretched arms in the bodies of the strangers surrounding me.
Almost, but not quite.
I hear her playful laugh in the midst of a crowd.
Almost, but not quite.
She isn’t here. Where has my sister gone?
Almost, but not quite.
My soul’s mirror has drifted far off
into a land filled with wondrous things.
There.
Yes.
Precisely there.
That moment of devastating silence as I reach
for her hand and swipe at the empty air.
The single second in which the rush of tears spring to my tired eyes,
in which my shoulders sag and the air flees my desperate lungs.
That is when I will learn to love. When I learn pain. When I understand the throbbing ache in my bones.
She is not here.
