Anniversary

I never wrote for you. Too shy perhaps, or busy living before death. Then after. No words, then too many, all about you not for. Every day telling you that I loved you; nights crying because you could not hear. And no surprises left, no exaggerations, no wild wild stories save those I could raise myself. Your spirit lived; in me, in others, sometimes fainter than soft rain on lilies, sometimes exuberant with colour and life. And now I make my own stories. Live, remember, let go, hold truth and see its own rainbows. I hear you laugh at me, my predicaments, you who lived so much in so little, whose years were forever and only time was now. I have years, decades, choices that last longer than we could dream, but I won't forget. Happy anniversary darling; rest in the wildest afterlife you can find.