A Brass Heart
A Brass Heart I reach for a pendant that hangs from my mirror. A pendant of her, a permanent photo of perfection gently placed in a small brass heart. I take it from the mirror and I open it, I carefully pinch the sides and the heart splits. It opens to the vivid smile of what is gone. Today is the anniversary of her death, another day of grief. This heart, this photo is all I have left. As I look to it, I suppress the urge of tears. For I know she would wish me to keep going. To grieve in the action of moving on. Of finding new memories to be created with someone else. But how does one move on from someone so close? How does someone find another to take the place of someone you held so dear? Someone that could never be fully replaced. How do you not feel guilty as time ticks on and you hold the hand of a new love? You know that is what they wanted, but how do you not let such thoughts sabotage the new things that come your way? How d...