Such a Heavy Word

I miss you today.

Grief.

Such a heavy word. Saying it makes your soul a little more tired; and I suppose it should.

How is it that I can see you with your blue pen, and newspaper crossword puzzle sitting outside with a cigarette.

I can see you, perfectly.

I can see the letters, written in your writing. Your writing that I will never see again.

Never is a word I convince myself I don’t need to come to terms with, and not seeing you sitting outside doing your crossword puzzles is something I never want to come to terms with.

I remember you talking about grief. Talking about how it just hits you, all of the sudden. You said you’d cry in grocery stores for no reason, a certain song would come on, or you’d see something that reminded you of the person who’s now gone.

I never understood what you meant until now, because now it’s happening. It’s happening while I’m sitting on an airplane, and the women across of me is doing a crossword puzzle on newspaper. It’s happening and it hurts.

I can’t help but wish she was you, and I was sitting next to her