Voyage

Today was better than yesterday. But I still woke up with certain things stuck like post-its to my brain. Like his cream colored flannel sheets. Like the feel and taste and smell of his neck. Like what ever happened to those little blue pills we were going to experiment with? Like the pop of the fire. Like the tangles of his hair.

Gone. All gone. It's been such a long time, and I still have so many mornings that I'm shocked to be in my own bed. It doesn't even seem to want me, as the covers creep towards the edge hoping I won't notice. 'Stuff' encroaches the space where he might lay, but only did once. The last night, in fact. Because the open blinds woke him up, and I would have never made a mistake liike that twice. That was the night I kissed him while I was crying; the last night he would ever hold me and comfort me.

How magically things seem to evaporate. How unfair that pain isn't one of them.

Every day it seems like a new drama; a new episode in a series that is in terrible need of cancellation. The network is crashing, but the show is still going on. I seem to reach a new attitude every day; a new solution to the quagmire, and every day I go to bed defeated yet again. Just when I think I've received an infusion of life, it is sucked out of me and I am left like a dried apricot to be chewed on by whoever happens by. The wind falls from my sails and I am stuck in the doldrums once again, with no land and no help in sight. The scurvy will befall the crew before much longer. It often seems it would be better to drown in the deep than stick to this voyage. What other voyage is there?