Dear Teodora
If there were words,
there would be none.
To mask the pain and the hurt
of losing a part of you
is to do the impossible.
Fear comes in waves of
torment.
Waves of sleepless nights
and days where all you can do is sleep.
You lost a great love
and you’ve spent far too long
suffering for it.
Your cheeks are stained with
acid tears
and your throat is sore
from screaming.
I am afraid.
I am terribly sorry and sorry
that I have to be sorry.
For you are a thunderstorm,
a force to be reckoned with,
and you are hidden away
from the world that loves you.
But fifteen winters have taught me
that out of sight
is never out of mind.
You are not out of mind.
We hear your thunder
and we feel your rain
as if it were cascading
down the side of our faces.
Do not lose your rage;
do not lose your soft
and tender, baby pink rose petal
side of you.
Do not.
Do not stop the thunderstorm.