Tend Towards

Friday Pride

The sun's descent began long ago, and I haven't noticed until now. The light that lit your face has turned gold, and then red, and then the cool hue of blue. 

You've spent the day out there, in the wild living world, while I watched with tears in my eyes how you step and dance further away from our willow. 

I want to call to you. I want to call you closer to me, and then feel you approach with the blanket of comfort that your presence brings.

But you want to sing. You want to sing further away from me, and leave me to watch as the warmth of your comfort slips from my shoulders.

I can't call out to you. I can't move.

My bones are weary and cold. My lungs are punctured by the fatigue of my efforts today.

You don't seem to know. Your bones are lively and lucid, and they carry you further and further away.

So I'll sit here on our grave, beneath the weathered willow, and I will wait. 

Go live your dreams, Dear, and I will stay here with this Friday Pride - with my head as high as I can hold it - and I will wait for you.