I'm holding a grudge against the flowers
who pose as your neighbors
the ones who try to mimic your purity
I trace your name engraved in the red stone so much
it makes no sense any more.
The breeze rests its weary head on my shoulders,
encouraging me that everything will be okay.
How can anything be right
when I'm sitting on a stone placed beside a fountain
in memory of you?
My tears splash on the silence of this sacred moment
even so, I wish your laughter would shatter it.
I'm holding a grudge against the obstinance of time
and would rewind every experience
just to see your lips crease into a smile again.
I press my cheek on the warm belly of the stone,
squeezing my eyes so tightyly as to watch memnories of you
like a film without sound
I'm holding a grudge against the clouds that pass you overhead,
against their freedom.
Even still, I know you lay not in this stone or even by this fountain,
I leave with the reassurance that your spirit accomanies me
with every adventure, that your soul sees through our eyes
and that your smile is reflected every moment one of us draws a breath.
In essence, I'm holding a grudge against myself.
My selfishness and my envy,
my jealousy that you're not here
for me to hold.
