Writing Out My Memories

If only I could see you for one more time, would you speak to me? Would you hold my hand, and tell me that you’re sorry you had to go? You left much too soon, for you were never able to see the brilliant woman I’m destined to be; instead, you passed on, and although I know you didn't mean to you left me feeling extremely low. Since you passed, writing has become second nature to me- writing has taught me that it isn't your fault that you had to go, for, even though you aren't here to hold my hand I know that you’ll still see who I’m destined to be, and the thought of that alone keeps me from feeling so low. So farewell, dear Oma, I hope I’m able to see you again, but, until then just know that I’ll be writing out my memories about you- over and over again.