Make time for something you love. It may not pay your mortgage but it will pay your soul. It’s up to you which is worth more.
The grief train is as punctual as ever, chugging along with its repetitive rasp. Why can’t it pause at the last stop or take a wrong turn? After all, the driver is a learner.
But no, it has a timetable and at the moment, it’s sticking to it. Today is Easter Sunday and as I sit here contemplatively shouving chocolates into my mouth, I wonder why you haven’t risen again? If it was possible to rise again based on love alone, you’d be here. You’d be here, tenfold.
C’mon Sweetheart. There’s chocolate to be eaten.
Tomorrow is my birthday. There’s wine to be drunk.
How am I breathing, and fast
when I’ve seen you draw your last?
How am I standing tall,
when it’s all I can do, to not fall?
How are these cheeks dry
and breast and thigh, when heavy eyes just want to cry?
How am I not bruised and burned
as I’m disgraced that the world has turned?
How can I speak instead of ball
when it’s no longer your name I can call?
How can I hear
when I still hear your voice just like it’s near?
How do I not scream
when now I only get to see you in a dream?
I cleaned His car today – or should I say my car (?) During which all I kept thinking was “That’s a little bit more of his DNA fading away.”
That’s all I got today. My inspiration just got washed down the driveway drain.