88.1

 Sometimes I can't write to you because it means admitting you're gone. Sometimes I can't write to you because I'm too exhausted, and I just want you to lie across my couch and listen while I rant. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Day 10.2: your eulogy

 I just finished writing the first draft of the eulogy I will read at your funeral. I need you here to look over it for me, to tell me if it's okay. I can't even turn this into a joke, you donkey fedora, you.
Read more

22.3

 I'm struggling. A lot. This is when I would think about texting you and saying, "please come over" or I'd make you go on ovipets with me, or I'd make bad decisions knowing that if I wanted you to, you'd be here in a heartbeat. And now I'm struggling, and I'm trying so hard to be good, and you're not here to call, you damned spleen callet.
Read more

73.1

 Almost all I have done for the past few days has been sleep. I don't know if it's mental or physical or both, but today... today was different. Today we visited your girl in her new home, and I know you were there too. I don't understand why I almost never feel you, but maybe it's because I feel you in laughter, and deeper joy, and there's been so little of that. Whatever it is. You were there today and Summer was herself, and it was a precious day. Thank you for giving me what I needed to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Read more