oh, how odd the gaps of silence are,
like banded amethyst,
the blend of beauty of old and new,
dark and light synchronising in a dance,
I wish to call you,
then I adjust to idea that I cannot,
I smile, think what if,
question all that was,
all that could’ve been,
but oh how I am relearning to write again,
use my mind alone,
they do not understand what its like to lose parents,
not like this,
not when you had none,
not when you made in an entity that was also bound to death,
and who’s to deny that I won’t die too,
a home,
of milk and honey,
and almonds and things to rock me to sleep,
I miss her laughing at me.