You were the one who taught me how to daydream; how to exhume wonder from outrageous bleakness. I told you stories and you turned them into fairy tales, I spoke about paper characters but you danced with them like they were your old friends.
It still remains a mystery to me how full of magic your eyes are, and how your hands can be wrinkled by veins and speckled with callouses but still have a touch of utmost gentleness and warmth. And maybe that's why you had to leave; maybe the heavens needed that magic of yours. To light up the sky perhaps, or paint the clouds with tangerine and mauve whenever the sun sets. Maybe the angels needed a storyteller every time they go to sleep, a fairy godmother to teach them how to fly, and maybe I've become old enough to believe in those bedtime stories, so now I must let you go.
And even if I ceased on believing in magic, in anything that spoke of princesses and pirate ships and happy endings, I still believed in you. And as I left you with stories, you have left me with memories; the ones that will always remind me of my youth. And I will forever owe that to you – my golden days of childhood – for you were and will always be my greatest adventure.
Poet's note: This is dedicated to my grandmother who passed away when I was only 6 years old. A lot of my childhood memories included her and just the other day, when my family and I were reminiscing, they talked about me and my grandma and I don't know what occurred to me, but I felt a tear slip from my eyes. I just miss her, I guess. And so I decided to write something for her. That's all, sorry for the rambling. Love you guys. xx
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Depth of Me •••#Wattys2018•••
Poetry"I'll write for what was left within the ashes; for the depth of me when all else is gone." cover drawing by: Carolina Roda
