Silver embossed hairbrush is duplicated by the mirror its' laid upon for years, surrounded. Guided fingers gently trail around a regiment of trinkets, secrets carefully tucked away where loving eyes buried deeply treasured memories into pinewood dressing table drawer; softly lined with delicate paper that once wore cascades of a fragrant rose; Pleated now and faded thin as tissue, fingertips breaking the fine layer of fluff causing its dispersal into the daylight rays projecting from the window to bounce each fleck of lint around the mirror, like tiny feathers lost from angel wings. Turning my head towards your picture the sunshine falls hard across my face. There is no replacement for a person lost from us to this world but they shine through every part of our being. The warmth of a memory can live in any moment of our day.
Journal of an empath