2. Poem from Regina to Robin following his death as she begins to heal.
Inspired by Iain S. Thomas' poem The Here from I Wrote This For You.
You're gone.
You're gone, but you're still here.
You're still here. You're everywhere.
You are the sound of crunched autumn leaves. You are muddy boots, grass-stained trousers, and leather gloves. You are the warmth of a campfire. And the sweetness of a smore burning on my tongue.
You are the carving of our names I found one day on our log.
You are the rhythm of a waltz I learn on the piano. You are the taste of whiskey as it pours down my throat. You are the burgundy scarf I keep in my drawer.
You are secret glances and shy smiles across council-room tables. You are moonlit walks on castle grounds. And whispered goodnights at the door. You are little dimpled knights falling asleep on my chest after bedtime stories.
You are lazy mornings and breakfasts in bed. You are late nights, kids sleeping, teacups in the sink, and a cozy blanket.
And lovebites not yet faded.
You are tales of bravery and heroic rescues, fights for justice, bows that never miss their marks, and outlaws with hearts of gold.
You are every unsaid 'I love you' because words have little meaning and your eyes say what your lips won't. You are distances that make the heart grow fonder.
You are daring first kisses. You are risks taken.
You are pink beanies. And gray flecks in your daughter's eyes.
You are a torn and tapped-back-together storybook page. You are possibilities lost and found again.
You are second chances.
So I smile. Because you are in that too.