I guess the main thing that bothers me is the memories that we didn’t get to make, that we will never get to make. There are things that I wish I could have shared with you, experiences, places, feelings that will no longer come to pass. I guess I mourn for them.
I ride through the park and for a second it comes to me, we could have wandered through here for hours, just being in each others company.
I play a record and as the needle hits the grooves and the first sounds wash over me out of the speaker I wonder what it would have been like to share this with you.
I lay in my bed and my mind brings up ghosts of memories of watching you get dressed while I lazily stare up at you late on a Saturday morning.
For some strange, maybe morbid reason, a vision of you, your belly swollen comes to me. You carry our child, our future established and our love blossomed, flowing forth to form another generation.
All of these things and more that haunt me will never happen, a part of me that was, that could have been dies. Racking my body and psyche with waves of despair and of pain. A pain that started in the guts, somewhat like a deep hunger that twisted the organs forcing me into a fetal position, prostrate on my floor in the dark.
It’s not real, not one bit. Memories of things that never came to pass. Ghosts of a future that died before it could be realized. None of it real, yet still, there I was doubled over, sweating, bile rising, cursing my misfortunes. Blaming myself, blaming others, even sometimes blaming you.
Authors note: I take it back, maybe this is the best of it. It’s fairly introspective and contrived though so it’s hard to tell.
