Did you know that in China, white

is the color of mourning?

​

But in this place, white

is the color of new beginnings;

 

like weddings, or life

without you.

 

Here, black is the color of sadness.

 

Black like a line down the center

of a pure white page,

​

because, of course, white

is also purity.

 

Purity, as in

absence.

​

Absence, as in

you’re gone.

​

You’re gone, as in

I’m sad.

​

I’m sad, as in

I’m watching the snow

blanket the earth

in cold, and new, and mourning,

​

and I’m trying to find a star that I can wish on,

or maybe give your name and talk to,

but all I can see is night.

​

And snow.

And black.

And white.

And absence.

 

A blank page. An un-chalked sidewalk. A painted wall, just waiting for grubby little fingers, is all that is standing between you

and me. Just six feet of dirt

and a rock

and a million,

million stars.

 

A million pin pricks of fading, watery white,

floating on a smooth black sea.

 

…

 

They are the same stars, I think,

that one can see from China.