In Memory of Brynn Kelly
I cry because I never met her
I cry because I knew her so well
She is the sister I never had
Her death, leaves me an only child
I could not have imagined her pain
Though I live some of it every day.
Her loss is felt by us all
Yet how anonymous her passing
I cannot understand why she could not go on
Although at times I feel exactly the same
The reasons are always the same
Even though we each claim them as our own.
She was a writer, accomplished at her craft
Yet unable to rewrite her own story.
What happens to all of her words?
Composed yet uncommitted to paper
Did they cease at her passing
Have they been lost to the world?
Or do they exist somewhere in the ether
Waiting to be discovered
Was there a time that day when just the right word
Spoken at just the right moment, in just the right tone
Could have rewritten the ending of her tragedy
Turning it into just another bad day
So much we will never know