Five Months

The grave atop the hillside lacks a headstone.

Nearly 5:00 AM. Still awake, unsettled, unfocused. Alone with worries and self-recrimination. Throat aflame from bitter burning of choked back tears. More rogue attacks of So Much Emotion.

Must Not Be Needy. Be peaceful. Be joyful. Put on that happy damn face and smile. “Great, thanks!”

A goldfinch visited. Climbing the screen one day, scolding me from the bird feeder the next. “Get up! Stop moping and suck it up buttercup!”

I washed some windows, but that’s all.

Five months. Still counting. Still hurting.

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