If I awoke today to the news that I had no tomorrow to look forward to, how different my voice would be.
How different my day would look.
How I would hold my mother’s hands and thank her for her love, her humor, her light. How I would tell her, again and again, that all is forgiven, all is forgotten and that if I could have chosen anyone else’s star to be born under, I wouldn’t.
How for her blindness of faith and the rift it has bore between us, I find her divinity all the more beautiful, because its hers. How I would apologize for so many secrets kept, so many lies told, so many promises floated on good intentions and inaction. How this place in my heart that is hers, is so pink and so healthy and so vital and is a testament to her strength. How I would love her until days are no more, and after there is no more sun to shed light. How she is mine, and I am hers, for this life and all others.
How I would show my sister all of the beauty in her that is so reflected in her daughter. A wit that is sharp and quick, brilliance and worth and kindness. How she changes gravity when she enters the room, with the force of her light. How love will find her when she finally sees that she is worth it.
How I would wrap my brother in my arms and heal our hurt. The fissure that is us. Once my warrior, my best friend and my most strident protector. How I would tell him to just let it go. The hugeness of his heart, his greatest asset, need no longer lay dark under the snowy blanket of his self hate. How he is gentle and kind, when he lets his acid float away. How my greatest wish for him, is that love finds him unaware, before he can prepare himself for it. So that he cannot find the millions of excuses to bat it away.
I would tell my father goodbye without malice. Without histrionics or hate. I would run my finger down the indentations of his drawings and feel the emotion he displayed so well in them, that he could not with us. I would see him only for the brilliant artist. Not the troubled man.
How I would hold fast to my Clay. Tell him that his love has saved me from the despair I walked in daily. That even though I have forced him to walk those roads with me, it is only because it is only he that makes me feel safe. It is only he that knows my heart. How I can’t change the things that I have done wrong but within even my darkest hours, it has been him I have wanted to please. It is for him I have cried and mourned when I have failed. It is for him that I laugh the most, run the longest, sing the loudest and cheer with the biggest amount of joy. How I have never felt more beautiful, more alive, and more real than when I am reflected in the blue of those eyes.
How I would spill word after bloody word onto the page, fast and furious and without a care to how it effected the fragile heart. How I would suffer to get my story told. If I had no tomorrows, all of my stories would be told, and I would be lain bare.