It's been almost three years since you flew away,
but I can still hear your voice, familiar and dear.
I can still see you sitting in your well-worn chair, playing solitaire on an old canvas board.
But tiny details are becoming muddled.
I try to recall your true smile (not the one pasted on in the photo on my wall), but it's elusive.
I can't hear your laugh. I don't remember ever hearing it, but I know I did.
The exact color of your eyes is hazy.
They were green, I know, but their hue and shine are details I cannot recall.
That teddy bear you held smelled like you for weeks.
Just one sniff, and I was overwhelmed.
But now, it just smells like my closet.
I have your Blue Grass on my night stand and when I smell it, I feel like you're here.
I am five again, on your lap in the rocking chair while you sing softly to me.
My Bonnie lies over the ocean...
My Bonnie lies over the sea...

03/20/2006

Posted on 03/20/2006
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