Cry with me. Don't fight it, don't wipe the tears from under your bottom lashes and squint with a smile.
It's okay, really. Those big shiny drops are beautiful too.
I'm not in the habit of lazing about in the midst of a big sloppy pity party, and I never will be. Embracing the melancholy is separate from falling victim to it. I want to step forward into the dandelion-scented breeze with no regrets, but it would be with a heavy heart if I went about the nasty business of tucking the best memories into tidy little compartments labeled "Open In Case of Emergency."
I miss this. I'll miss everything, always. And there's an edge to the loss that will never dull.
But this is not a crime. It diminishes none of the good.
Remember, but do not dwell. I've not seen my last butterfly just yet.
Beneath the shade of kiwi-tinted leaves, we'll walk together. The air will crackle with possibilities left unopened, and the anticipation will seem to overtake us. The sky darkens, we know we'll finally have rain. The clouds break apart savagely and we are drenched. Teal and green, blue and cerulean. Melding, twisting, seeping into one another with deliberate helplessness.
The end is just a door to another hallway, different and a little scary, but lit with the same eternal light. Open your eyes and breathe it in.