Skipping Stones

I feel like everyone expects me to smile, to be the one making their day bright; but here I am with these rocks in a pile, skipping stones just trying to find some light. I can never seem to get more hops across than the number of those no longer here; as I stand here and struggle with yet another loss, I ponder what, from all of them, I'd want to hear. That it's okay the branch he loved I so eagerly spite, that she's proud of all I continue to do; that I did all I could for him that fateful night, that this newest wishes only that I carry on through. That though their days have been spent, some remnant of identity lives ever on; his altruism, her tough will unbent, his clever wit, his grin ever ready to dawn. Here on this shore I hear no such assurance, just four stony ripples' echo in the twilight; I drop my last rock and question my endurance, how much I can take of memory's sight. So if you find along the way much the same lot, your friends erstwhile but your aches alive; you can find me handing out stones at this spot, and together through this moment we can strive.