Wherever You May Be

I’m angry that you’re gone, and I’m angry that I don’t know where you are; although you were definitely made of stardust, or whatever glistens on the moon. Regretful, confused, perhaps because I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again and the indefinite promise that you’re gone is quite honestly terrifying, mesmerizing, I get lost in the thought of you being anywhere, somewhere. I’m angry with the promise of a “better place” - that you were always sure of - but that I cannot fathom. What better of a place, than here with me, instead of in the uncertainty that follows me around like a lonely ghost. I hope that it’s you that follows me, but then again, I don’t because I’d rather feel you in the summer rays, in the wispy wind in the watercolor sunset, feathered with clouds in your favorite songs while I fly down the freeway with tears slipping down my cheeks as quickly as you slipped away. I’d rather feel you in my heart, in my bones, and in each beautiful part of life, because I know that’s where you’d want to be.