Occupied by grief and the slow oppressive passage of time, I wait. My eyes open and there is sun streaming into the stillness of my room. I lie there quietly, there is no reason to move yet.
Somehow I am in the shower, was it will or memory that brought me here? The water is comforting and my heart sings that ancient and wordless duet. Standing here is too much. My spirit questions why I ever left my bed. The water lingers on me, it’s warm embrace gone and now only the hollow cold is left. The water is punishing me like a jilted lover.
My closet is a view into madness, I do my best.
Stepping through my door the hot sun surrounds me but does not seem to touch my skin. Have I neglected my garden, or has it always been so dull?
Long hours and repeated motions.
I do what is expected of me.
Finally. Gentle sleep. Here there are my own. My own, all of these. Lie with me and speak gentle unto my soul. It is shattered in a thousand places, and fragile, but I would gladly be scattered into the wind for just a single touch.