ZARA M.

Memory is the time that stays,  It sees us as we grieve in our own states,  The memory of your passing is still fresh,  How you left me crying behind your flesh.  You did not stay to see how it would affect the life I live afresh.  I was the one most loved by you; Now there is none to see me through. Reflections of a lifetime spent beside you Have all reduced to echoes after you.  A love like yours, purer and softer,  Is nowhere to be found since you. You drifted away, choosing the easiest, Leaving me to the company of only tears, Rolling down my cheeks every night since May 27 Deepening my silences to the core edge it was never,  If there is a way back to ever... (I wish.) Your favorite granddaughter is grieving since ever. I look each night to the skies, Hoping you are watching over me from the heavens. Forever your granddaughter, ~Zara M.

 Dear Heart,  If I could spend my time only as I wished and desired, I would spend it in writing alone, writing to you about the shades and rhythms of you...about the skies, the birds, and the colours of nature. I would write to you about the phases of the moon, the daily sunrises, and the rosy silence of twilight. I would speak of the seasons, the weather, and the flowers that remind me of your gentleness; of the rain, whose droplets fall upon my cheeks and soothe me with the feeling of your presence; and of the winds that so often tease me with your delightful name... I would write to you endlessly, simply to tell how dearly I hold you and to let my heart breathe through words.  ~Zara M.

 The sky bleeding rose and gold, where quiet stories unfold. The moon spilling honey and hues, while the heavens loosened their blues. The clouds showering a rain of starlight, as nature breathed in light. The evening pouring feathers of twilight, as horizons go silent... As though every sunset still belonged to you, Yet, every shade becomes another shade of you. ~Zara M.

 Dear Heart, I write to you hastily, in panic, overflowing with words, intense feelings, and trembling hands. I write what burns inside me, as the boundaries of this world restrict me from unveiling the ache that lives within; I prefer to breathe my words into the page. I am very much aware that these pieces will remain with me far longer than I imagine, unfolding only within my own solitude. Yet a quiet sting of hope never leaves my side; someday, somewhere in life, they may still find their way to you. Perhaps the pages will grow yellow and brittle and crumble at every touch as they surrender to time. It is also very much the possibility that the scattered thoughts I entrusted to these papers will one day fade into obscurity. Yet even then, they will still bear your address, preserving the deepest feelings and strongest emotions I once carried for you. Always, ~Zara M.

 I realize I have felt the golden, crisp autumn of October; the light, cool breezes of November; and the love of December during the summers of May to July. You poured into me all the blonde sunrises and the rose-lilac sunsets. That petal-soft heart of yours awakened a velveteen bloom inside the tender soul of mine. My already fragile heart could not resist the honeyed verses and tender traces you etched upon my delicate being. I, with a brittle individuality, let every fragment of me soften beneath your quiet nearness; I almost surrendered to the realization that the July within me was intensely stirred by the fullness of your presence. ~Zara M.

...And since I house your echoes, carry the horizons of us within me, long for your presence with unbearable intensity, write about you obsessively, and imagine you infinitely, almost to the point of craziness, I desire you to be here with me, sharing the earth beneath the soaking sunlight and endless blue skies.  I cannot bear the shadow of your presence; my heart has never learnt to live on echoes alone. It is worthy of a home, and it has never recognized one except yours. ~Zara  

Dear Heart,  I have that sudden urge to write you everything, everything so little yet so deserving of being shared with you. It is the intimacy of sharing the smallest details that has always undone me. The language of my heart is so incomprehensible that I struggle to weave it into lines, as though every feeling exceeds the reach of words. As I tell you, I am full of letters that I never found the courage to send you.  They remain folded within me, waiting for a season brave enough to let them find you. ~Zara M.

Dear Heart, Every breath carries the memory of your nearness. Every dream keeps returning me to you. Every thought lingers on a dawn that never truly departed. Every page I write carries the echoes my soul never forgot. Every season within me waits for you endlessly. Ever yours, ~Zara M.

 My every sunset folds into another dawn, and each dawn carries the possibility of you. I linger for your return, for the evening's quiet embrace, for the inner sunrise you awaken within me, and for our time to be together. My world pauses where you departed. Here I lie, inking the infinite obsession I carry inside me until every page gets heavy with what my eyes could never hold. I write to the extent that the lines overflow with words and the paper surrenders to the quiet rain of my soul. I am convinced that peace will arise, though not from letting the unspoken find ink but from endlessly imagining you to the point where my soul mingles with yours until your presence surrounds me completely. ~Zara M.

Dear Heart,  Somewhere beyond the far edge of this endless night, there I am, living unbridled thoughts of you: the sunshines and the storms, the tenderness and the trials, the embraces and the farewells, and the nearness and the distance. In between it all, I find solace in nurturing a thought that it is us against the world. Though imaginary, it exists. Though absent, it is present. Though a night unfolds us in different tides, it still comforts me to know that we share the same night beneath the same sky. Though we stand at different corners of the world, we continue to exist in each other's memories, apart but never entirely separate. ~Zara M.