When You Returned

Saying goodbye
is something meant to be done in person
but what happens
when fear steals your chance?

My heart splintered
under the weight of what I didn't do.
not because I didn't love you enough,
but because I stayed silent
when I should have spoken.

I never picked up the phone.
Never warned them.
Never gave our family
the chance to say goodbye.

The knowing ate through me,
chewing its way beneath my ribs
until I was hollowed out
left with nothing
but the memory
of what could have been.

I should've.

Words that still haunt me.
Words that pull breath from my lungs
even now.

I should've.

Grief peeled my skin away
until I no longer fit inside myself.

I should've.

Guilt crushed my chest
until there was nothing left inside it
worth keeping alive.

I carried that weight for years
until I was brave enough
to notice the truth:

you never left me
with unfinished goodbyes.

You made sure you were seen.

My uncle, drifting asleep
behind the wheel of a semi,
saw your light flare so bright
it tore him back into consciousness
just in time to watch you
float into the star-filled night.

You said goodbye
to many of us
while the veil was thin
and we were still open enough
to receive you.

And you waited
patiently
until my grief softened
before you came to me.

I sat in your room,
holding our last moments like glass.
Outside the window,
the pool water was still,
as if it, too,
was waiting to breathe.

I leaned my head against the glass
and whispered for you to come.

In an instant,
the water tore open
ripped apart
as if someone ran across its surface.

I wasn't afraid.
Only devastated
that I wouldn't get to hug you
while you were alive.

Then you were beside me.

Holding me.
Just once more.
The way only sisters can.