Are you not coming back?

They’re talking about you again. Their words are pulling at my insides. It makes me mad that they don’t even know the day you died.  I am angry to hear the ones who cast you out speak. God, I want to cry and yell! How dare you speak his name!

I took my dog on a walk the day after. We went to the field next to our home. We ran and ran until I couldn’t breathe anymore. Then we ran some more. Just sobbing and feeling the tears crystallize on my cheeks. Tasting their salt and running at 12:30am.
The first time I visited His grave I sat in my car listening to a million different covers of “I’ll Be Seeing You” with a bouquet of yellow flowers. Yellow means you’re sorry. I just sat there talking to him.  I thought if I sat there long enough he would show up and say its all an act. Or his sister or brother would tell me that the truth is they had you commited and faked your death. Or you were now CIA and you needed to assume a new identity .  

“Are you not coming back?” I asked. I asked that many times like you could hear me.


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