…In Hillcrest

Random Acts...

It’s been four weeks since you passed away. In my dreams I’m still at your door that morning frantically pounding, desperate for some sign of life beyond the wooden barrier – an audible gasp, a groan, the sound of bare feet shambling across the divide of the room. Just like that morning, in this nightmare you never come. Whenever I wake from the echo of that morning a shuddered reality instantly directs this emptiness that tortures and consumes my entire day. I love you…that never changed and it’s all that remains.

Minutes are possessed by “should haves” and “what if’s” that offer no solution for the clouds that wrap around the seconds. All I have are the remnants of what I tearfully know through remembrance. The fondness for feathers; your love of Varo and Goya; the loud cacophony of Jack White, Unwound, The Black Keys, Fugazi, and Circus Lupus; the…

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