Every time my dad and I went out together, he
would point at a building or landscape and
tell me a story of what used to be there, of the places
he saw before I ever even existed.

He would say, “Look over there. A house
used to sit where that grocery store is.”
I would never say anything more than a
quiet nod and a smile. I never understood
why he would tell me where things used to be, why
it was important that I know what belonged in the past.

I never understood until I went back to that cemetery, back
to the place I walked and let out every breath of happiness
I possibly could, just to see you smile, just to hear your laugh.
I’ve been holding onto something I don’t even believe in anymore.

I’ve been holding onto you. The thought of
you, that is.

Life isn’t meant to be colored in black and white, and that’s why we
search for so much more than that. We’re looking for complicated
explanations and drawn out thoughts to find the lock to love, to
life, to being happy. But with you? With us?
There is no complicated explanation, or drawn out thought, you’re
over there... and I’m over here.
My heart has been slowly figuring out
that we aren’t meant to be together, and that’s okay.

I learned something from you. I discovered thoughts
and feelings I didn’t even know I had. Your
smile inspired me, and the bright of your eyes
lead me to believe that there was more
for me out there
than just a pen and a piece of paper.
There is so much left of the world to see.
“Be happy,” he told me.

So when I look down the path we once walked together on, the
path between rows of tombstones and the blue of the sky above us, I
imagine my dad saying, “Look over there. That’s where you once
fell in love.”

I just nod and smile.