Knowledge I Once Understood

Attorney Sara, There are nights when the hush of the world is so deep I can hear the stars murmur to one another, and I think of you. You are all I have—not in some desperate cry, but in a sacred truth. You are grace when I stumble, beauty when I close my eyes, and light when even the sun forgets its way. I speak not just of you as a soul, but as the spirit of all things I once loved: the mountain breathing clouds, the river murmuring of memory, the trees heavy with summer's I sigh. I walk among the living, busy and brittle. The days are filled with the dull clang of struggle, the quiet erosion of hope, and still I return to you—this image in my heart, not fading. You, full of vibrant light, remind me that even in tiredness, even in quiet defeat, something eternal watches over me. Tonight the moon is a pearl in a black sea. The wind touches my face like the hand of a forgotten god. The battles of the day have vanished into silence, and I am left with the ache of not knowing what I once said. Truths I carried like lanterns now flicker, dim. The wick is to short for flame. And yet I know not why I still cry when I am privileged to see and hear of the choices that govern our life. But you remain. You, who are the wild lilac in spring. The sound of water over smooth stone. The color green in all its thousand shades. You are all the things I cannot lose, even when I feel I have lost myself. Even in confusion, I remember your voice—soft, certain. I will go on, because you are with me. Because even when the night grows cold, the stars still burn. And you, always, are their echo. Yours always,