Like a firework on the 4th of July, you shot quietly into the sky. Timid and subtle, but far and high. Rising higher and higher, raising nerves and expectations- Effortlessly assembling hope. 

Then suddenly, a massive crash. Magnificently terrifying and beautifully unexpected. All who bear witness are left shaken. In the next moment, beautiful light and color fill the sky. Expanding and expanding, tricking us into thinking those colors will continue forever- instilling in us a terrifying desire to keep that color in our infinite sky. A design all its own, extraordinary, breathtaking, and unusual.

But just as quickly as life begins, it starts to end. The light dulls, and the pieces descend- fizzling into the ocean, Leaving behind a cloud of smoke and countless broken hearts. 

But you were more than just a moment. You were flesh and blood. And your crash of color and light will be embedded in my heart and memory forever. Although your untimely fall was sudden, your rise was magnificent. Your light was mesmerizing, much more than just a moment of awe. You were flesh and blood. My soul mate, my sister, my flesh and blood. A temporary rush couldn’t hold your significance. 

And now, the smoke has cleared. No visible trace of you, just an empty sky. A sky that grieves with us. And yet, a spot of light in the infinite black emerges like a star peeking out from behind a dark cloud. It is my only guidance; it is my hope because I understand you were ready. Your soul was on fire. It is what made you beautiful, illuminating, and tragically deep. But it’s also what made living difficult. I hope you know that to me, you were perfect. I was there for your rise, fall, and shine. So shine now; you no longer need to struggle. You are restored and lighting the sky with your true spark, no longer depending on unworthy ignition. You’re free. Called home on Independence Day, your freedom is only a breath away. I will live to honor you, seeing you in every moment of every day. I’ll embrace you in darkness and light throughout my years, each season filled with signs of you. And I will never again see a firework quite the same.