Where Are You?

I reach my hand to touch your face

And find your face not there

I long to trace your fingertips –

Your hands are nowhere near

I wish to look into your eyes

And meet your soul with mine

Your image haunts my every dream!

I want to shout and scream

Where are you, in this world?

All I have are thoughts

And sweet reminders of the times

We touched and loved and kissed

I hunger now for you, my love

The memories have to fill

That aching void that never goes

It stays with me through all.

Memory Tree

With the magic of Google (thank you, Google maps), I was able to locate the exact tree under which I sliced the soft skin of my foot, of which I still bear the scar. I was six years old when I was stood on a broken piece of glass, and all I saw and felt was never-ending blood.

I love that the tree is so well maintained, and clearly loved with that bright red ribbon.

If I close my eyes and travel back, I smell banana yoghurt as well as choc chip, I remember ballet lessons, being left out of my 8 year birthday party (all my friends wanting to play with my sister), a red bicycle, and a broken collarbone. I remember wooden floors and happy times. Sitting in the backseat of the car holding a tea towel over my bleeding foot, all the while it was getting soaked.

And the Friday after my birthday we left school early, moved from my home town, away from my best friend (who for some reason must have not been at my party), and to the big lights of the city (Johannesburg). Away from the beautiful tree, and the best school ever. Jenny, David, Angie.

An Old Friend

I met up recently with an old friend. We last saw each other seventeen years ago. And when I saw her again, I immediately recognized who she was. I recognized her mannerisms, her voice, her personality, her way of being. What I realized is, we remember. Throughout our life we connect with others. And they imprint themselves on us, and we on them. What impressions do we want to leave? How will we be remembered?

How do we want to be remembered?