The Shadow of Grief

I hear your steps, at first it is normalized. Then, I make a quick hard turn in that direction.

I can hear step, step, step. I can hear your laugh, I can see you tip your head back, I can see the finicky things you would do with your fingers.

I can see your fingers. I can see the shape. The rounded, narrow, almost like a child's fingers. I hear your laugh again. I hear the step, step, step.... It is just my memories.

The sound of my memories.

Fleeing, leaving, coming, and haunting. I shake it off, I shake you off, I do not have time for this. I do not have time to hurt, time to feel, time to remember, time to listen to your laugh, or the step, step, step.

This could have been our time, our time was always going too fast in the wrong direction. I can see your walk, I can see you walking away from me, your unique gait. Your clean shoes, your hats, your scarves, your fierce ideas.

My intense, solitary Jeff, I keep saying your name. As if you will reappear if I say it in a certain sequence, or as if I can make myself disappear. I lost more than a piece of me. Much more.