I had three little albums full of a year of memories that brought me joy. I put them all in a cardboard box (along with a few things I collected in 2012) and surrounded it thoroughly with duct tape. Those photos are of my true love and I in what might have been the last year of his life. (I hate cancer!) Whereas the pictures in my mind always take me back to glimpses of me on the street. Walking. Alone. Hours from home. I put all those albums in a box several months ago, along with other bits and pieces of last year. Then stored them at the back of the guest room closet. Theres a coat in that box. I may very well wear it. Maybe. Getting a little chilly. But probably not. It might make me miss my favorite robe... the one I laid down because it was too heavy to carry. Dont even know that I can look at the photos. I dont want to. It hurts too much. Still. Yes Sir, Seriously. Theres a letter in that box too. One I dont have to read to know what it says. We writers call it a typo... It real. Maybe Ill mail the letter to him. Maybe. Maybe with a very brief answer to his pleas. I wait for no man. Im just not going anywhere. Im in the same place I was in February 2012. Handling what life hands me. Handling it fairly well for a broken person. I must clean out the guest room to bring in the jungle for winter. When they go back out in spring, Im turning the guest room into a mudroom, complete with exterior door. Someday itll lead off to a deck with a goldfish tank and 2-person spa. Meanwhile, I lack finishing the kitchen and utility room. And tearing down and rebuilding the mirrored door panels I designed. A few months................................. I have enough to keep me busy without a man around.
Posted on: Sun, 27 Oct 2013 19:01:35 +0000
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