Missing You Always

Missing You Always My wish is to give peace, comfort, and hope to those on earth grieving the loss of a loved one.

A mother holds her young child by the hand,They stand together in the fading dew.Their silhouettes are soft against the ...
06/02/2026

A mother holds her young child by the hand,
They stand together in the fading dew.
Their silhouettes are soft against the mist,
In fields of textured, melancholy blue.

A single bird is drifting through the sky,
A quiet witness to the love they share.
The landscape stretches out entirely still,
Wrapped in a blanket of unmoving air.

When you departed from this earthly path,
The world became a different kind of place.
I didn’t just lose safety and a guide,
Or the sweet comfort of your gentle face.

A part of my own identity went cold,
A secret chapter only we could read.
The version of myself that you brought out,
Is now a ghost that leaves my heart to bleed.

I walk these hazy fields day after day,
And feel the weight of what was torn apart.
I’ll hold your hand forever in my dreams,
And carry your devotion in my heart. 🕊️

— Missing You Always

A child stands looking out upon the deep,On rocky cliffs where wild currents race.With open arms beneath a stormy sky,Th...
06/02/2026

A child stands looking out upon the deep,
On rocky cliffs where wild currents race.
With open arms beneath a stormy sky,
They brave the spray that thunders at the base.

High up above, a solitary bird
Cuts through the rolling fog and heavy air.
A tiny speck against the shifting grey,
It flies alone, an emblem of a prayer.

Some quiet days, the water settles down,
And tide pools mirror back a gentle light.
I find a soothing comfort in the past,
And carry your sweet memory through the night.

But then the wind will shift without a sign,
And swell the tide into a crashing wall.
The sudden realization of your loss
Will leave me breathless, struggling not to fall.

I stand upon the edge of this great sea,
And let the ocean speak my hidden pain.
The endless waves will keep on rolling in,
Like steady heartbeats under frozen rain. 🌊

— Missing You Always

Someone placed a glass heart on the wet sand at the waterline.Inside it, dozens of smaller red hearts, visible through t...
06/02/2026

Someone placed a glass heart on the wet sand at the waterline.
Inside it, dozens of smaller red hearts, visible through the glass.
The rose beside it is already touching the damp of the sand.
The tide is somewhere behind them, doing what tides do.
I understand that exposure — putting the love outside the body,
in something transparent, where you can see it is still there.
So you can count it on a bad day if you need to.
So it is not just yours, sealed up inside a room.
I carry love like that glass heart.
Full of the specific smaller ones I cannot make into one word:
the sound a particular Tuesday afternoon made
when both of us were in the same house with nothing planned.
Still full.
I used to worry the years would empty it.
They do not work that way, I have learned.
The loves stay the way glass holds its shape.
The wave will reach the glass heart eventually.
It will not break it. It will only make it wet.
The rose will darken where the sand has touched it.
Neither one will be gone.
I do not know who left these things at the waterline.
I know why, though. The open air.
The not-hiding of it.
The leaving it out where something might find it.
— Missing You Always

Every color in this image is gray except the cardinal.The child is gray. The stone is gray. The fog is gray.The bare tre...
06/02/2026

Every color in this image is gray except the cardinal.
The child is gray. The stone is gray. The fog is gray.
The bare trees going back into the cemetery — all gray.
And then the cardinal, one red point, on the stone.
The child is holding a small flower in both hands.
He does not know yet how many times he will come here —
the parking at the edge, the cold coming up through the ground,
the standing, the not-knowing-how-long, the going back.
I know. I have the years of it.
I know what the ground feels like in the cold months.
I know how long the standing takes before it is enough.
I know the flower you bring does not need to be much.
But I know.
Not what it means — I have stopped working on that.
Just that the cardinal comes. Red against the gray.
Not every time, not on request. Just sometimes.
The child will learn the sometimes.
He will come on days the stone is only stone.
He will come on days when the red bird is there
and the cold feels different for no reason he can name.
He will put the flower down eventually.
He will walk back across the cold ground to the car.
The cardinal will leave when it is ready.
He will come back anyway. That is the whole instruction.
— Missing You Always

The book is open to a page it never finished.The butterflies are still coming out of it, going up.I have books like that...
06/02/2026

The book is open to a page it never finished.
The butterflies are still coming out of it, going up.
I have books like that — the ones we were both reading,
the ones with a corner folded where someone stopped.
They stopped and did not come back to find out what happened.
I cannot finish them either. Not yet.
Not because the story does not deserve an ending.
Because finishing it means the last shared page is gone.
The butterflies rise from the bright center of the book.
They do not know the story stopped mid-sentence.
They just keep going, smaller, toward the dark above.
All that motion still releasing from something open.
Still releasing.
That is what undoes me — not the ending
but the things still rising from it,
all the unfinished movement still going up.
I have opened some of the books since.
Three pages in. Four. Closed them again.
Put them back in the same place each time,
face down so I don't lose the page we were on.
The butterflies are already near the top of the frame.
The book is still open to its bright center.
The smallest ones have almost cleared the dark.
I have not turned the page.
— Missing You Always

The light comes from somewhere above and hits the floor near the feet.The feet are bare. That is the detail I keep retur...
06/02/2026

The light comes from somewhere above and hits the floor near the feet.
The feet are bare. That is the detail I keep returning to.
Bare feet mean you did not plan to be here long.
You came from another room and something brought you down.
Before you thought to put your shoes on, the floor found you.
I have been there. The cold of the tile through the soles —
something that honest cuts through the numbness
in a way that nothing else does on certain mornings.
The shaft of light does not reach the face or the hands.
It lands just past the feet on the cold floor.
As if what is being illuminated is not the grief
but the simple fact of being present inside it.
Near the feet.
I have stayed on floors longer than I meant to.
Not dramatically. Just the floor being the one surface
that did not ask me to sit up or arrange my face.
The floor holds you differently than anything with arms.
It holds you the way things hold you when they have no choice —
completely, flatly, without saying anything about it.
It just receives whatever lands on it.
The light moved eventually. The floor did not.
The feet were still cold.
I got up when the floor was done with me.
I have not found a better way to say that.
— Missing You Always

A single hand reaches up toward the light,Against a background of a smoky blue.Two gentle doves take solitary flight,And...
06/02/2026

A single hand reaches up toward the light,
Against a background of a smoky blue.
Two gentle doves take solitary flight,
And disappear into the morning dew.

My fingers stretch to touch the open air,
Attempting to connect with where you stay.
A physical expression of a prayer,
Sent to an angel who has flown away.

I cannot hold your hand within my own,
Or wrap my arms around your fragile frame.
I walk this heavy planet all alone,
And whisper to the wind your sacred name.

But boundaries of spirit and of space
Can never break the promises we made.
I see the clear reflection of your face,
In moments where the earthly shadows fade.

So fly ahead, my sweet and precious guide,
Across the pale and undulating sky.
I’ll keep your love locked safely deep inside,
Until the day I also learn to fly. ✨

— Missing You Always

Two distant shadows walk along the track,Beneath the archway of the frozen trees.They walk away and never quite look bac...
06/01/2026

Two distant shadows walk along the track,
Beneath the archway of the frozen trees.
They walk away and never quite look back,
As quiet as a winter morning breeze.

The forest rises up on either side,
A watercolor wash of slate and grey.
A misty path where older days have died,
And taken all my shelter far away.

Oh, mother, father, what I wouldn't give
To hear the simple music of your voice.
To find the steady space where you still live,
And in your shared affection to rejoice.

I carry your devotions in my chest,
A legacy of kindness and of care.
But living with your absence is a test,
An empty echo in an empty prayer.

I watch your distant figures fade from view,
Deep in the foggy center of the grove.
I’ll walk the remaining miles thinking of you,
And living in the safety of your love. 🌲

— Missing You Always

The water rises up around my chest,A purple mist that settles on the lake.I bow my head in sorrow and unrest,And count t...
06/01/2026

The water rises up around my chest,
A purple mist that settles on the lake.
I bow my head in sorrow and unrest,
And count the pieces left inside your wake.

A solitary bird sits on my frame,
Its dark silhouette perfectly still and small.
It does not try to call aloud your name,
But shares the heavy silence of it all.

When you departed from this earthly shore,
You took the vibrant colors of the spring.
The simple joys don't matter anymore,
And hollow is the song the robins ring.

My confidence, my laughter, and my grace,
All vanished down the river of my tears.
I’m left within this misty, frozen place,
To navigate the landscape of the years.

I stand deep in the currents of the past,
And feel the weight of what I had to lose.
The shadow that your absence has forecast
Has permanently altered all my blues. 🕊️

— Missing You Always

A quiet child is resting in the deep,Soft textures of a twilight-shaded bed.In innocent surrender to their sleep,With he...
06/01/2026

A quiet child is resting in the deep,
Soft textures of a twilight-shaded bed.
In innocent surrender to their sleep,
With heavy eyelids and a peaceful head.

Above the pillow, glowing through the shade,
A single white and ghostly butterfly
Sails through the quiet room, completely made
Of silent light against a dark blue sky.

I waste my breath trying to make them see
The intricate mechanics of my mind,
Defending all the things that make up me,
To eyes that are determined to be blind.

But those who truly love you do not need
A map to understand the path you trace.
They feel the quiet rhythm of your creed,
And recognize the language of your face.

So rest your weary spirit in the dark,
And let the noisy world go rushing by.
The right soul feels your solitary spark,
As silent as a sleeping butterfly. 🦋

— Missing You Always

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10101 Oldfield Court
Fort Worth, TX
76244

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