I wish I could tell her, and I wish she could hear. Whenever she hears the swing out here creak, or the long slow exhale, she’d know I was here. Whenever the midnight wolves chased her into nightmares, or the dark places she walked enveloped her, she should know I’m here. Always here.
But she didn’t know, I couldn’t reach her. I should get used to thinking in past tense. She left, forever beyond my reach, and I’ll never be able to tell her, show her, I’m here. I guess this means I am alone now, and all was for nothing.
She would laugh at me, if she could see me. So much work, suffering, and sacrifice to stay. She always used to say I’d be the one to leave first. She was right, and wrong.
I’ll always be here.