A fine Sunday evening of September 2022, we sat in sunshine’s bedroom.

As the sun was setting dutifully on the western window of sunshine’s room we sat in mild darkness. Creativity, Freedom, and I Passion were Bathing our endless thoughts in the yellow glow of fairy lights that were on or maybe it was the golden glow of happiness that was radiating off of the owner of the house. Sunshine. She was a ray shining so bright that day. She was beautiful and busy living every moment to the fullest. 

I haven’t met anyone so greatly interesting.

I sat beside her, on her bed, fresh sheets that I knew she had put on that day. She was clean like I was, organized like I was.

It was so quite in the room that we could hear the quite humm of the A/C that wasn’t working but was still on.

We were in a trance.

Inside a shield of four concrete walls where no one could reach us. We felt boundless. The song of Courage played in the background. She wasn’t there that day. In fact she left few months ago. Never came back. It was her favorite song playing in the background. Creativity was messing with sunshine’s ukulele, trying to find some rhythm.

Yeah sunshine had a ukulele. She often practiced it with Courage.

Courage.

Courage was Sunshine’s safe space. Her heaven, her temple where she could strip all her layers. Be vulnerable. Their bond was otherworldly. Sacred. That Sunday evening Courage was missed the most I think. I’m not sure because her absence is felt every single day with the same intensity. 

Freedom, had her head bent over her phone. Texting away something sneaky and exciting to god knows who. Her long black hair fanned out on the pillow her head rested on. Her silver rings that she never took off catching that beautiful yellow glint every now and then with her every movement.  

She was lost in her own world. And I was wondering if she could feel everything that I was feeling and everything that the others in that room were feeling. Freedom must have felt it too. After all she was the most sensitive one out of us. She was loud and unapologetic. She was magnetic. And contrary to her tough exterior she was a soft soul. She wore her heart on her sleeve. She was the first to shed a tear and last to wipe it. She laughed and the world laughed with her. So was her persona. 

I wanted to reach out to her but I couldn’t burst her bubble. In fact I was frozen in place, stuck in that moment. It was too much to take in and I wanted weep and somehow just melt into the moment. I was feeling everything thing and I couldn’t contain it. 

Creativity was bold, unashamed of new adventures and always ready for another day or another sunset. She was kind and her existence calmed my ferocity. She was like a beautiful smile challenging you take your eyes off of her. But she was divine in spirit. You could never limit her. She wasn’t made to be in a box. 

 My friends, they were all mine. My life was filled. I felt like I had everything even if it is just for few more months. I knew then and there I needed them like I needed the next breath. I was bound to them by memories. I think in that moment I felt peace. I felt it passionately. Because in the end I was Passion.

Creativity finally settled on a rhythm she liked. She kept on practicing, missing a key here and there. Like I missed my Courage. Yes she was mine too. It was never a question. She was ours. Courage was the pillar Sunshine and I could lean on. She was the moment itself. Now as I write this, I am left wondering if Passion is a hope left to the wind since Courage’s departure. 

How do I ground myself when the foundation that was holding me together is now so far away and maybe out of my reach.

I can’t protect her like she can’t protect me. 

But she was there in that room; that surreal evening. On a cupboard in the form of a butterfly, perhaps signifying its presence. 

Almost as if a painful reminder of how you can never really erase someone completely who has left a mark on your soul.

 

 Lost and Found,

 K.