I said yesterday that I love writing exercises. This was one. I pulled three words out of a ramble I’d written down and never done anything with and, using the tone of the ramble, wrote this. I’ll put the three words at the end of the post.
Anywho, here it is:
by Marian Allen
I look through the window, down, down, toward the park, and the bench where we used to sit.
We walked along those paths so many times. We shared so many hot dogs from that vendor on the corner. We fed so many pigeons. Watched so many mommys and nannys walk so many babies. Cheered at so many races. Visited that zoo. Rode that carousel.
Your absence is an ache that never leaves. Your absence is a hole in my life that can never close, and it’s filled with all the love I can no longer give you. I love other people, but their love is their love. Yours is still with me, packing ever more tightly into the hole you left, aching, reminding me that you were there and now you’re not. And yet you are.
Sometimes the ache overflows and leaks down my face in the form of salty water and I know you’ll always be part of my life.
Sometimes the ache overflows and leaks into my brain in the form of memories and I know you’re very much alive.
I think about following you. I imagine opening the window and falling, down, down, down, toward the park, and the bench where we used to sit.
Then I turn away and take the stairs. I have a hot dog to buy, pigeons to feed, and people to watch.
~ * ~
I think that’s a happy little story. Of course, I am MomGoth.
It’s Tuesday, so I’m also posting at Fatal Foodies with a frittata recipe.
MY WRITING PROMPT TODAY: absent, window, bench