Human nature is an expert romanticizer. Tragedy becomes something to relive, life with you a fond memory. Somehow, the stark lines of reality are so blurred that a shining trombone brings me to a tearful smile. Somehow, I forget what life with you really was. Yelling, not crying, over spilled milk. Family game nights ending with slammed doors and wet pillows. Life with you was walking n already broken eggshells, because try as we might, we were wrong. Father's Day pictures were you in your old suit, frowning- us, showing desperate teeth and tense shoulders.
If I squint, the smiles seem real.
Unfortunately, when the lines are still blurred, cigar smoke and closed eyes have me envisioning a hiking trip where you made an effort. Where map-reading wasn't an ordeal. Meat on the grill brings me back to six years old, coming home from school to a smiling you making us dinner.
I can't run fast enough to unblur the lines and see the bitterness in your eyes.
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Gorgeous. These are honestly your best works I've read. I don't know what happened but don't stop! I'm in love.
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