I imagine she has your eyes, your lips, the set that has simultaneously screamed and laughed, loved and seen too much.

Her hands, her touch, her embrace.

Her hair, dark and strong, like the generations of women running through your veins. I pay tribute to the tan and taking women in your blood and pray to her laugh, her cries, her voice, the voice I’ve become so familiar with,

With no memories at all.

The voice made me promise to brush, wash, tuck and feed. “Never leave her alone, dry the rain from her soul and support her to be in force, exist.”

I promise to be your haven and heaven, to reconcile what has been lost. But this world is so big and I’m afraid I won’t be able to compose the same warmth as her. She was the sun and I am only a satellite created to launch into orbit.

Can I be the moon?

Your struggles rearrange the cosmos, your adventures carve oceans into stars. And almost too easily, you have colonized a whole galaxy. Maybe I was never meant to be your moon, but you, my universe. You have so much light, your glow is contagious, and the planets are drawn to your luminosity.

I hope one day you find what you are looking for.

She will be your angel, everlastingly

And you can be mine.