I’ve never written a poem about her,
but I miss her.
She made me feel safe and heard
within minutes.
Like bright daisies
on a never-ending trail,
reminding me I wasn’t alone.
Like curling up
by the fireplace as a child,
no longer afraid of the night.
She felt like home,
a version of it untainted,
no place for shame or
worthlessness.
She offered me hope,
in small conversations.
She made me feel worthy,
even in silence.
I remember her
when I go barefoot in the grass,
when I pour a cup of orange juice,
when a laugh escapes my lips.
I remember her
when the darkness clouds my vision,
when I can’t find any light,
when there seems to be no future.
She let me be all versions of myself
without ever telling me
to go away.
She welcomed all parts,
and I’ll always look back fondly.
I wish she were still here.
