After the untimely passing of one of the purest individuals to roam this earth, collecting the works of April Zanfino has been a mission for sister Kayla. Here are just a few poems and journal entries, merely specks of angel dust that readers can discern from the great canvas that is April’s soul.
𝙺𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚊 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸
You tried to wipe your tears in time
but it’s not the wet glimmer on your rosy cheeks that gave it away
It’s the way I can see myself in your hazel eyes wandering aimlessly
I’ve seen your emotions swing like a pendulum
From a breath of joy on one side
To a sigh of defeat on the other
You and I have become so familiar with the fear of losing
That one’s absence will never surprise us
In fact we prepare for this loss the second we set our eyes on someone new
We know how dangerous hope can be
But what is most dangerous is our lack of interest in the world
When we have no one worth chasing
You are out of my reach
Like a balloon,
Liberated from the weak grasp of
Floating out of sight,
Into a microscopic speck of color
I jumped on every trampoline
And climbed the world’s tallest tree
But you still drifted away
Into endless pools of cloudy grey
And although I cherished the way
And stole the light from the sun
I will never forgive myself
For being too heavy a burden
For your ribbon to pull.
𝙰 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝙹𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝙴𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜
Thank you God for blessing me with my sister. Kayla is the best thing in my life. She makes me feel like everything is okay when I’m at the lowest, unbearable points of my life. She acknowledges my pain and gives me an unavoidable reason to live and power through every struggle. She has the sweetest heart and sees beauty in nature and life. She looks beyond the outer layer of flesh and sees and appreciates the souls of others. She deserves endless happiness and I hope that she finds it soon in her life. I am beyond lucky to have grown up with her right by my side. She doesn’t keep me sane; we go insane together.
A long time ago I remember someone telling me that happiness is a choice. I suppose this could be true because when I tell myself that I am happy and I act like I am, I must be. But I am also left to question, is this real? Is this all there is? Will I ever be so happy that I have no doubt about its presence within me?
The last day I saw you, I knew an end would come to many things. I foresaw the steep hill I’d tumble down, but still I stood on top and danced on the very edge, twirling my body to the sound of her voice and wobbling without fear. I want to say I regret my recklessness but I had never felt more alive in my life. In a few moments I would lose balance completely. I would no longer feel the comforting stretch of the unwavering smile on my face. I would no longer feel the same liberation cascading through my veins or the enslaving warmth of pleasure in my heart. The absence of those sensations you enkindled within me will forever be my greatest loss.
My mom is the most wonderful woman in my life. She knows I’m struggling but she doesn’t know what with. She sympathizes with me every day and always makes it clear that she is here for me whenever I need. She hugs me every day and reminds me that she loves me. Today when I came home from school, I looked on my desk to find a note written in sharpie that read “April, I love you with all my heart and soul. We will get through this together. Love forever and ever, Mom.” Reading this broke my heart. It forced me to think about my previous actions; the way I have been going behind her back and lying to her face very often. Usually I can avoid the guilt and shame by immediately pushing these thoughts out of my head. But it was in that moment of reading her note that I could feel the heavy weight of guilt on my shoulders. My mother deserves much better than my behavior. I feel a huge lack of control over this. I am so sorry to my mother. My mistakes will never be her fault or her lack of good parenting. I will walk around with this guilt until it changes. But in all honestly, change does not feel very realistic. I can see my future self feeding into these ongoing patterns of thinking.
I lie on this bed at night and stare deeply at the ceiling above me. After staring long enough, it is no longer the white, paint-coated ceiling that simply connects my walls. It is a screen displaying a convincing collection of memories I have not yet created, awaiting my encounter at the end of each draining, purposeless day; a captivating vision in which you and I exist, together. As each one ends, another one begins. And I will continue to spend my nights roaming spiritually amongst this state of fictitiousness, for I’ve discovered that my only desires are embedded within the infinite layers of this very ceiling.