Hello. I miss you.
What's wrong is that a year and seven months ago today you died. (Or something like that. Something long and awful like that.) What's wrong is that it's been even longer since I saw you alive and fully as yourself.
The 8th of any month still sticks out against the other days; a subtle reminder of Time. One month Grandma took a scissors and cut out the 8th in her kitchen calendar, leaving a future month's day shining through the empty hole.
I wish I could do that with life. I'd cut "today" out and throw it away and make sure it never happened. I'd make sure it was just another sunshiney day.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment