Lock up the wind. 

Punish it as thief, murderer. 

Wicked sibling of a summer breeze. 

Its swirling fury and malice earns it a place in hell. 

It feels no pain or remorse. 

It is unliving, unloving. 

Dead but powerful. 

Object of hate and “Why?”. 

Leave me alone. 

Who are you?

Ani, who are you?

I know you are more than you seem. 

You are more than the interactions we have. 

You have secrets. 

Secrets you do not want to keep. 

Secrets you would shout, if you could. 

I hate that there are parts of you I don't know. 

Were you able to talk with me, I would have loved to have experienced you change day to day. 

More than anything in this world, Ani, I want to know even the most trivial aspects of you. Your secrets. Your unspoken dreams and fears. Your faith. Your loves. 

I know so much about you, through your twinkling eyes, your many different smiles, the differing efforts you put into indicating "yes", and the way you open your mouth to try to say something. 

Who are you, Ani?  You are not what my perceptions say you are. You are what YOU say you are. 

Tell me who you are. 

Please. 

Before we meet in Heaven. 

Point the way please, my eyes are clouded. 

It happens before I know it. 

Which way is the wind blowing?

What is my course?

The black cloud obscures my landmarks sometimes, causing me to drift. 

Questioning, I search for direction. 

Where am I?

Who am I?

Who do I try to be?

At times, hopes and dreams are so fleeting. 

At times I just want to be led. 

Tiring, I just want to sleep. 

Not to decide, not to discern. 

While walking, I awaken and choose my way, hoping to keep pointing straight the next time my eyes are clouded. 

The weight of "Why?"

Oh Nate,

I am more because of your life, and diminished by your death.  The weight of “Why?” causes me to fixate on your absence instead of anticipating our eventual reunion.

The weight of “Why?” causes me to shout your name in anger and sorrow while driving, forgetting the depth of love I once used while saying your name.

The weight of “Why?” keeps me in the moments of your life where I am ashamed of my behavior; the times I yelled at you, or stayed at the computer instead of dancing with you.

The weight of “Why?” binds me to this earthly existence and my weaknesses, when there is such strength and peace and love elsewhere.

The weight of “Why?” places more importance on our separation than the time we had you here.

Nate, I am more now than I ever was.  You have enriched me more than any loss can take away.  I promise to struggle against the weight of “Why?” every day, for you.