A sat on my star last night.
You know the one. If you have forgotten, go outside by the rainbow well. Look up and count 9 stars to the left of the moon. If you are able to do that, maybe you should.
I sat on my star and thought about you. I can’t explain why but I think I might be sad. After all you moved, you packed up all of your clouds and left. Somehow you forgot to grab your rays of sunlight on your way out. I sleep with them every night so I never forget how you smell. I hope you don’t mind.
It started to rain while I was thinking. You always liked the rain. I remember how you used to run outside in the middle of a sentence because you were always worried that the rain would stop before you got to run through it. I filled my eyes with the drops that fell. To do this I had to drop down from my star for a little bit but I didn’t mind. Later I would lose these drops I saved for you. I began to think of you and they fell right out of my eyes. I’m sorry. I will replace then, I promise.
I looked into space and let my mind wander. A gust of wind nearly knocked me off of my star. I looked down in anger hoping to curse the weather that startled me so but I noticed it was a jet. How foolish would I look cursing a jet? It sounds like something you would do. I was always too reserved when I got angry. You taught me how to get mad in a healthy way. Now I no longer own my notebook dedicated to, “Things that make me want to start a riot,” because now I handle things differently.
The moon was particularly sassy last night. I asked him if he wanted to sing a song with me and he ignored me. Isn’t there a song that has to do with the moon and not paying attention to your son? I thought so. I started to sing that song to him. He got so mad he started to fade away. I think I taught him a lesson.
I figured that I had spent too much time on my star so I tried to get down. My dress got caught on that stubborn point, you know the one that is just a little longer than the others. I laughed with the point as I removed my dress from it. I made my dress apologize.
I opened my sock drawer and noticed that you had left your bottle of tornadoes tucked in the back of the cedar moving box. I opened it, the tornado was getting claustrophobic. He thanked me and returned to the bottle after he had done his fair share of damage to my perfume bottles. Well now they are puddles and broken glass.
One last thing, I walked down the poppy path behind that old cabin we used to visit for picnics. I picked a flower and took it to you. Your gravestone is sad-looking. Reading your name through blurry eyes I sing a hymn. How we miss you. And I’ll have you know, I’m wearing that pink dress you liked so much. I remember you told me that I looked like the April Wind. That’s when I knew you liked me, after all the April Wind was your favorite thing, barely beating out the rain. I must return now, the heavens will only leave the sky open for so long. It is moments like this in which I wish I had told you about this hope my mother taught me. Had I given into my heart, I would have shared that hope with you and you would be with me. I’ll be taking a flower back with me as well. I will never forget you, and I will never forget what I forgot to do.