Here’s some free flow writing. It’s about all I can do right now…
I think I should certainly, by now, be feeling something. But I’m not. I’m reading a novel about innocence being stolen and projecting my feelings onto the story. That’s easier for me right now. Now and then I play the French National Anthem on the stereo and open the condo door into the hallway and march around the living room. I’m unable to touch upon my own reality. That seems so inconsequential to losing my own reality. My life. And I don’t always have to make sense of my sorrow.
Love At The Concert
I’ll always remember his body moving to the music
his arm draped
playfully over my shoulder
and that sudden
unknown look upon his face.