We stand on the edge of this canyon,
old laughter and shared dreams
tangled in the gusts.
Your voice, faint but familiar,
echoes from a place I can no longer go.
We both have searched for a bridge
neither can build alone.
But oh, how I tried.
Stretching my hands and my heart,
I pulled at the threads of our connection
until they frayed beneath the weight
of unspoken truths.
Still the chasm grew;
rocks beneath my feet caused me to stumble.
I miss you.
I miss the rhythm of a life we once shared,
the harmony of understanding.
But this canyon is deep,
and the fall would swallow me whole.
So here I stand, grieving.
Not just for what we were,
but for the wounds that have happened in the healing,
the chains that we haven’t been strong enough to break.
I ache for the freedom in which we could flourish,
if not crushed by the weight
we’ve been told is love.
In spite of the pain,
my hope—for you, for us—remains.
Hope that one day the walls will crumble,
the canyon will shrink,
and we might meet again on level ground.
Hope that healing will find you
in the quiet moments,
when the noise fades into stillness
and truth sings its gentle song.
Until then, I’ll carry the memory of us;
of days spent weaving conversations into life,
of hours spent in waiting rooms, across tables, on phone calls.
Until then, I will carry you in my heart,
not locked in a dark corner,
not as a burden, but as a reminder:
of what love can be,
of what it might be again.
I’ll hold it lightly, with open palms,
trusting the winds to carry it where it belongs.
And if someday our paths align once more,
if the distance dissolves into understanding,
I will meet you there,
with a heart that remembers the good,
and arms willing to embrace all that is new.
But for now, I let go.
Not of love,
but of the reaching.
Not of care,
but of the climbing.
Not of you,
but of the fight to make us whole again.
I stand here, rooted and grieving even as I flourish and grow,
whispering a prayer into the canyon:
May you find healing.
May you find your way.
May you find peace.
