Blonde Woman, Two Rows Front

Blonde Woman, Two Rows Front

I keep thinking about how tired I am and that it's mostly my own fault. Instead of going to bed I stay awake
Watching interesting television or
Working number puzzles or
Reading airport paperbacks or
Wandering through the house moving things from one place to another.
Despite the fact that when I close my eyes and take a deep breath my whole body pauses in anticipation of the refreshing quiet of sleep.

In my head I'm blaming everything but myself despite the fact that I know too much.
I stand at some weird emotional point, not stuck but not moving, remembering things that used to mean so much to me.
Every time I miss someone it hurts differently, dependent on how difficult it would be to touch them again, to see them again, to love them still.
And each piece is amazing in it's complexity, and changes each day. Some days the dead seem closer than the living,
Some days living after death is the most difficult obstacle of them all.

I thought I saw you the other day. I've started going to church again, and I wonder if that would please you.
Sitting in front of me was a woman who, for a moment, could have been you, and my heart ached a little bit - a little less and a little more when I realized it was a stranger...
And that you are a stranger too.

So here I am, wondering how you are. Wondering how any of us are, really. How we are managing to get along without each other.
I don't feel stuck, but I'm not moving forward either.
It reminds me of television that I just keep watching because I want to know what happens no matter how bad the players are.