A pair of brown eyes and a smile as bright as the sun
is what I remember most about you.
The smell of Hobbytex fabric paints and that strange crushed fabric you asked me to colour in.
"What are you doing?"
"Looking at the Big Jim catalogue that came with the van Mum bought me for Christmas."
"Come and help me colour in."
I came and helped, in spite of my selfishness.
Who knew that less than twenty years later I'd be holding your lifeless hand, my love.
Except, of course, every impotent onlooker - myself included.
You had a beautiful voice.
By rights I know you must have gotten angry.
Less times, as I grow older, than I think you should have.
More times than was good for your health.
I wanted you to fight back for all the times I couldn't.
Your rich beautifully spoken voice that pushed the fears away,
at least until you finally succumbed to your own;
to those thrust upon you,
day in and married day out.
But I'll dwell no more upon that.
Decades later I'd inquire where you were originally from. Where your people were from.
Up north, I would be told. The islands up north.
By my reckoning, that would make this day yours more than any soul I've known and loved in my life.
Just know, that for what it's worth, there are people who love you still and always.
Forever beautiful.
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