To my Micah

I am still so mad that some metaphysical power was so selfish as to take Micah away from her family, Romeo, her peers, the world, me.  When a vital element of your muse dies, how do you fill that void?  How do you pick and choose through the telephone pages of the world and find someone to admire and believe in and smile at?  Do you look through every single entry or do you do what you did as a child making prank phone calls – close your eyes, circle your finger in the air, and randomly point at a page? 

I still have a few people like her left, but I feel as though I am experiencing dead air on the radio – I know that I am supposed to be living and breathing and talking and loving and laughing, but I have nothing to say.

Not one damn thing. 

I always expect a cheery and helpful note after my literary entries – instead, I have twice been treated to post-mortum entries (in truth, written by her mother), but that is all.  She wanted to so much to beat that cancer and was so confident that it would not force her to surrender.

When did it go wrong, Micah?  When?  Was I not paying attention and it flew in and carried you away with the strength and speed of an enormous hawk?  Or was I not paying attention and it crept up behind you and seduced you into its den?

I mourn you, my beautiful inspiration, and I will forever miss you.

All of my love is with you.

Always.