My grief is groping through the dark while angels flash miracles and light around me. I am undone. Everything tied in pretty bows yesterday lies loose before me awaiting me to knit a new afghan. That’s when I realize I don’t know how to knit or sew or bake a pie that tastes like my life.

My life: where did it go? It’s the same with the exception of one key player. I cannot go where my dead boyfriend is, nor deny the desire exists.

I’m a conflicted sky today. The blue brands itself: azul, the Spanish word because I need a new language. The white is pure. I’ve heard white is a combination of all the colors. Then I see the rainbow, but not in the shape I know. This breathes yellow, blue and orange, with the seeming texture of snake skin or dragonfly wings. A trail of grated cheese waves at me.

I’ve never known sky like this. Then, the colors dissipate—unless I count the gray haze and darkness. It’s going to pour. I feel the storm welling up in me as it threatens from above. I never know; will it be quiet tears I can maintain as they slide down my face like during asana in yoga yesterday or will they break like a toddler’s tantrum in a restaurant?

I roll with the clouds as they shroud the bright colors I was just blessed with. It’s all opportunity to see anew while recognizing my lack of control (over the weather).

Clouds form, grab my attention, and remind me to Look up! (words hollered from my boyfriend on the other side). I see hearts, clouds shaped like hearts—mine, his, messy, clear, messages I can’t prove. He tells me to stop trying so damn hard, just see what I see. I do. It’s love.