Today, I'd like to take a journey
and if you'll allow me, I'd like to take you with.
But don't pack much.
Just bring someone you love.
Go ahead, grab them, I'll wait.
If they're not near, find a photo,
a voicemail, a sweater they wore.
Hold them in your arms
in your mind
however you can;
as if they could vanish when you blink.

Let's walk awhile
through questions we rarely dare to ask

Tell me:
if science offered you a perfect clone
of the one you loved most,
same laugh, same eyes,
same habit of laughing at your jokes, even when they aren't funny
would you say yes?
Or would you find comfort
in their imperfections being unrepeatable?
Do they have any imperfections?

If you and your loved one had one final day:
no illness, no warning,
just 24 hours gifted to the two of you
how would you spend it?
Would you dance in the rain like its a movie?
Would you say things out loud
that your heart's been whispering for years?
Would you smile, laugh, cry, yell?

And tell me:
have you studied their face lately;
like a sky about to lose its stars as the sun peeks over the horizon?
Do you remember the first moment
you knew they were your favorite word
in a language you thought you'd forgotten?

We tend to wait for grief to ask these questions for us
when the voice is gone, the phone is quiet
the sweater is folded in a drawer like a secret tucked away.
But what if we asked now
while we can still kiss the answers?

So,
before this poem ends,
before you scroll,
before time wins its race,
hold them,
call them,
love them,

Tell them the things you'd regret never getting to say.
Watch how their eyes answer you.
Notice how lucky you are
to have someone
worth asking these questions for.