But You

My aunt dies. Leaves behind a broken family, so frailly held together by their love, like a thin silk thread that sways under the weight of their tears by her casket. The day is painfully beautiful, all birdsong and courageous sunshine, the woods strewn with flowers. Familiar arms held me on the train platform and I thought family is something you make. I wished you were there, when the tears emptied me. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go, this is too soon, there is too much life left in the world and she made her daughter promise to still get married come summer.

The train ride home was quiet, the velvet countryside dancing in warm sunset colors, the lakes still, the forests reliably unyielding. And an empty spirit makes room for a grateful heart to grow.