like pictures in a frame.

I had a tear-invoking memory of Eric this morning.   
Every time I think of him my throat stings, but I can usually contain the tears.
Not this day.
I miss my friend so much.

Grief is a funny thing; how it comes in waves.
I just sat there alone, fanning my face and trying not to ruin my make up.
I just kept telling myself to get it together; it was only 8:15 a.m., and I look like crap with no make-up.

I'm thankful for all the memories,
even though they make my heart hurt sometimes.

I wrote this poem a long time ago, but I think it's fitting for today.
It's about the transition that people, places, and things take into being a memory or sentiment, and not wanting to let go.
The good thing is, we don't have to let go.
We just have to remember.
And remembering just happens to be one of my gifts. 

Oh sweet memories,
how they turn away and change,
or sell for cheap at a second hand store.

Frames on the wall tell all the years contained;
alluding to a life from day to day.

Say it ain't so,
you're going away?
Leaving me with all this change?

I will remember you every time I say goodbye.
It will always be the same,
I'll hear your name and close my eyes tight to bring a sight of you.

Memories, how they fade
like an old photograph in a frame.
Telling a story,
bringing a tear,
showing me beauty,
how I wish you were here.