Andrea Volpp

When you closed your eyes for good,
I stopped seeing my own in the mirror.
They're still green, outlined in dark blue. 
They still squint when I smile.
Just like yours. 

I laugh and I can feel the corners of my lips curl.
Visions of you come in like you're laughing in that moment too.
Your eyes closed, head always tilted down, smile as wide as it can go.
Just like me.

Days after you left, my heart rate was over 90 just laying on the couch. 
I know that, logically, it was because I was stressed. 
But I like to think that it was because I was taking on your heartbeat as well.
That you're not gone for good,
But easily found in those little details. 

That our same eyes will continue to see this world together.
And it didn't have a timeline from when you saw me moments after I opened mine...
To when I saw yours closed, head peaking out of the top of a bodybag. 

That our nose we both hated, will still savor the smell of Camel cigarettes.
And be transported back to late night drives where that aroma filled your car, windows down, music blasting.
And me in the passenger seat thinking,"If D.A.R.E. doesn’t use  'imagine your little sister is next to you' they definitely should."
Not because I stopped you like I wish I would have.
But because I wanted one too.
So that I could be in the exact same moment as you. Feeling the exact same way.
But I knew better than to ask.
Or rather, you knew better than to give. 

We shared so much in so little time.
First days of school, late night after late night of me crawling into your bed (sleeping alone was hard)
And when this 8 year old southern belle became a Michigander, you were sitting right there beside me. 

But my favorite thing that we ever shared,
was a love and a bond so strong that I could never deny it was present. 
Even when you weren't.
Even now that you aren't. 

You’ll live on through me. 
Exploring the world you left too soon with our same blue green eyes, you’ll see.