When I was younger and prone to fancy, I would post inspirational quotes everywhere I went. In my locker at school, my journal, a mirror or bedroom wall – wherever I could see it and be reminded of wishes and beauty and hope.
I was reminded many times throughout a day to extend one of my hands for helping others, to love thy neighbor and be respectful of the shoes they walk in, to shoot for the moon…
In my youth, I knew these lines to be true, and the colorful markered words served as testimonial to what I understood to be inside of me.
Now they seemed a vain wish, a desperate ache of forlorn innocence.
When I look at the stars now, the vast night where all of my dreams had landed that didn’t reach the moon, I see a canvas of illusion, a skyscape of falsity. Heaven no longer lies beyond the glittering lights, but science and equations and hard, warmthless fact.
It was moments like those that made me remember my grandmother was gone.