You

I sit in bed just staring always at a few things of yours- I look at your cello- in the corner where you left it- and can't believe you won't play it again? I look at your desk and computer and the shirt you left hanging over the chair. It was ripped but you wanted to use it as a patch under one of your jeans. I was going to surprise you by doing that. I look at your suitcase that came back home after you did- it's out on the balcony but I see it through the window. I look at your book bag under your desk. I got it for you at TJ Maxx before you went on the tour.

And I sit like that all the time, but today- just now- I gasped every time I looked. I gasped because I realized that all of this- all of this craziness is about you. It's about you dying. You- the other part of me that feels so familiar we can sit in the same room and not talk for hours, we can walk around naked, and laugh about things only we know about. And i gasp. It's as if the brain has been keeping this a secret from me these past few weeks- letting me act in a play of sorts, but not letting me quite make the connection. Today I am making that connection a little bit more. I am getting this- just in seconds- and then it's gone again. I am crying, gasping, sighing, talking to you outloud. Because all of this- it's about You.