In Panama last year,
We made a friend
Who made a dress.
A beautiful purple dress
For a little girl.
We bought the dress,
Not because we have a daughter,
Nor are we expecting to,
But because it was beautiful,
And we wanted to help out.
I still look at the dress
And think it’s beautiful,
But there are times
When I lift it up and
Feel it’s delicate weight
In my hands and
Suddenly, a wave washes over me.
Sadness, Happiness, Longing.
Saudade.
I miss my daughter,
But she doesn’t exist.
I look for her,
But she doesn’t exist.
I love her,
But she doesn’t exist
And maybe never will.
I have to quickly drop the dress
And look away.
I breathe and shake my hands
Until the feeling passes.
How powerful is love,
That it reaches through time?
How deep is sadness,
That it cannot?