As I sit in my small rowboat floating aimlessly in the vast, dark ocean, I wonder to myself where you are.
The sky used to be filled with your brightness; even among a million twinkles, you shone through. You said you would always be there -- if I got lost, you would guide the way.
The words comforted me even as danger lurked all around me.
But now, you are gone. An empty sky, a void where you used to fill. As if your light fueled all others, everything has become dim -- a starless night.
I have lost the will to row, too afraid that I will go in circles, too afraid that I might miss your shine again. A hopeful thought. A foolish thought.
Your light is gone, in fact, it was gone a long time ago. I just didn’t know it.
Other lights come and go, giving me the brief courage to start rowing, but they quickly fade. None other shines as bright as yours.
I settle for duller lights, hoping that if I row harder, row farther, the lights will get brighter. They never do. Even after years of rowing, they only end up disappearing.
So once again, I’m floating. No courage to row. Thinking about your light. Think about how bright it was. I can only dream. I can only hope.
Maybe one day, I can find a light brighter than yours, a light so bright it will fill the sky -- obscuring all others, but, most of all, to forget yours.