I don’t linger too long or dig my heels into those memories of him. I stop by for a visit most nights but can’t stay long. I’ve created so many playlists for this dead person, but mostly for me. This is how I conjure the catharsis of tears and smeared mascara. And if I’m especially down then I pull at my hair and beat the floor with my fists. Angry about everything with nobody to blame.
Currently flowing out of the speaker: “That’s How Strong My Love Is” (Rolling Stones version). He played this song incessantly in the days before he left. I don’t know why but he’d do that with a song…just play it non-stop. Maybe this time he knew something I didn’t. “I’ll be the moon when the sun goes down, just to let you know that I’m still around.” But are you?
It’s becoming harder to imagine a life of ours, us, and we. Table for one; it’ll just be me.