Stones Worn Smooth
· prose
The voids in our lives
Weigh heavily
We resist the impulse to fill them with life
As nature abhors a vacuum
And thus, despite our will, we struggle to remember those we have lost
Maybe it is because these voids are not emptiness
But so much a part of us that their existence remains as energy
Like a magnetism that repels the implosive force of time
Maybe it isn’t a struggle at all, but a balance of two opposing forces
Time trying to erase—while their silhouette remains indelible
It is not our resistance after all—just our witness to this stalemate.
They are part of us—not a missing piece
Or— maybe these memories are precious missing pieces we carry with us—
To pull out of our pocket to feel in our hands
A comfort— that familiar fondness
As stones worn smooth
In our garden of remembrance
JArtB
07 April 2024