for the ones I've lost.
Is the angel standing over me the same one that stood over you?
Has it been holding my hand a little tighter because it knows that you can’t anymore?
Does it have newfound strength now that it ushered you to the end, so prematurely?
Sometimes I wonder if you’re still here, if you want to be, if you’d rather be resting.
I prefer to think that it’s a bit of both, that you see what's happening and are shouting to me from above, telling me that it’s going to be alright.
But I want you to know that it’s okay for you to rest, that you’ve gone through enough.
It’s up for me to live for you now; I’m trying.
I’m really trying.
