The sun still rises in the morning, just as it did
when I could manage to open my eyes four years ago.
I know of the light it throws out so carelessly
from silver-wisped clouds, not because of the warmth
it wraps around the birds or the life it gives to the creek in my backyard,
but because the hope in my heart tells me
the sun still rises.
And I hope it does,
and that wherever you are too,
the sun rises for you. I haven’t opened my eyes
since the last time we said goodbye
(for I am afraid to see what this Earth looks like
because without you, there’s nothing to look forward to.
Not even the rising sun,
(which we will one day conquer
and chase over glowing hills and glowing streams),
is beautiful enough
to paint over the human-shaped space that
you have left in my heart and
that you have left in my head.