You are four years memory. Happy hurt for more memory. Happy birthday darling apricot spice daughter.
I raise you in memory.
I raise you in story told--for others to release some-something-glorious something.
Wind-aa-ya-ho, wind-aa-ya-ho, wind-aa-ya, wind-aa-ya, ho-ho-ho-ho, heh-ee-o, heh-ee-o, ya-ya-ya. Nora va, va. You were born of fire, be of fire, more of fire. Blessings from your warm glow.
Four years and I feel you so ever more.
Darling girl. My darling girl that broke and re-opened my heart. Thank you for the medicine that allows me to see your brothers and extended mama give Vashon crew the love light you never allow to be put out.
Darling spice girl.
Darling apricot sweet girl.
Darling Daughter.
Four years--four years--four years--more to come.
This one hurts. It does. I'm crying as I write. This time of year (oddly close to my own birthday) is like a snake shedding. Hurts but can be so much more. Just hurts though, always does and will I suppose.
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