Austin Faber
Guest Writer
The other day, sitting on the dock, I saw you in the clouds, mirroring across the water. Your face still tan from the beach. Your long hair still black as ash. Your friendly eyes blue as an early April sky. Your little shitty grin still edged in your smile, as if a prank went as planned. And your cheery dimples, lit nicely by the sunshine, as they were, always. And you floated there above the water just for me to see. Then you gently drifted away, like a bird, into the setting sun as if you were sad to go. And a stream of tears fell from the cloud, and then another, and another, leaving ripples across the water all the way to the sun. I imagine you sat right here, on this dock, looking out at this big water. The way it climbs up and meets the sky. The mystery of it, and the wonder: who put it here, and you, and who took you away and into the clouds? You would always tell me, and all those you treasured: All my love, big as the water. And now I understood. For the water is strong like your heart, secure like your hug, and unmovable like your love. And our tears that poured from the clouds filled this and this is yours and we sit at this big water of tears and know you’re just right off the horizon. And though there are days a storm rages and our big water is angry with waves, but soon, soon it will be still and clear and stretch far off into the horizon and mirror up into the heavens, just like your love.