It feels cold.
It feels empty.
It feels heavy and lonely and thick;
      Grief makes you feel like you can’t breathe.

To her, she was a daughter.
To me, he was a friend.
To us, they were too young, too kind,
      Taken too soon from something we couldn't understand.

She has dreams.
I have photographs.
We both have something to think about
      And a wish that we could call them to talk about it.

Death is unforgiving.
She doesn't care about the phone calls.
Or the photographs.
      Or the stories that would’ve been shared if only they were alive.

She taught her how to read.
I taught him the game my sister & I made up.
We exchanged knowledge
      And now the exchanging has ended. Ceased. Forever one-sided.

So now she only remembers.
I only remember.
We cry and grieve and try and be okay;
      But somewhere it still feels empty.

It will always feel a little empty.
But,
Surrounding ourselves with people who love and care
      Whose love can partially fill that emptiness...

That’s the only way to carry on.
In Renay’s silence, I felt that my emptiness was tended to.
Understood in a way that was unexpected
      As her life and my life overlapped in so few ways.

But we were silent by that elevator and in that silence we remembered.
Together.
And so that is what I will do.
      Dream, Pause, Grieve, Remember.