Moving On

I've moved on. I hope you have too. Admittedly I still have all the same haunts and people and habits. If you came back as a guy and stalked me like some PI on an insurance scam, you'd be so bored. You'd get there before me – no need to tail me. You’d place the food order before I even waked in the door. I'd be like 'wow Maria, how did you know?' Jeez Milo, this is great – didn't even have to wait - thanks!' I might like you paving the way for me for awhile. While, as I say, my life is still a routine, it changes. It changes. It does. It has. You are not here. It's what? 19 months. My routine for awhile was doctors, quiet TV, drug store runs, hospitals, hanging out downstairs, changing your bag, a shit-load of evil Sudoku, taking the calls, explaining this and checking up on that. Then for an even shorter time the routine dealt with the finalities: canceling cards, taking your name off of things, untying you, throwing the ashes of your electronic identity into the thin thin air. Releasing you. Releasing. Giving up. Freeing you. Falling down. Letting you go. Sleeping a lot – not answering the phone. Moving on. Sitting in my car not really knowing my place in any of this. I saw a tree and it reminded me of moments in our lives together that specifically revolved around a tree. And I thought of a hammock at my Uncle Ed's. Our weight sagged it down to the big yawning limb beneath us. I thought of the backyard branch that knocked out our electricity. We bumped around in the dark house. Laughing. Looking for a non-existent flash light that I swore I bought. Funny until I split open my toe on the door you opened ahead of me that I obviously didn't see. The felled tree down the street after that freak storm that brought hale for the first time in recorded history. Who the fuck is throwing rocks at the house? For nearly a month we used to love to walk by and enjoy the tree's exposed bottom and routed network. Why the fuck am I thinking about you and trees? This, by the way, happened this morning. Why you and tree? You haven't moved on, have you? You want to linger on with me, don't you? That was way too sudden an exit, wasn't it? You have business still here with me, isn't that true? So let's make a plan then. Come along with me then. I might sleep with that woman who just opened up the garden shop down the street. Why not infuse her with you. I would really like that. And she could use your taste, your sense of focus. She too has had loss and sadness. She too has lived life in gray matter. She too has moved on. And maybe she wants to invite him too. They weren't together as long as we were. Hell, they weren't even married. But I don't mind. Maybe he has some qualities I could use. Maybe he can help me finally learn to play guitar. We could all sit together at the park then. We'll picnic and I 'll noodle on the strings. And we'll love how people will stop by and admire us. See us for the ideal they would like to one day be. And they won't know that it's all been hastily arranged and agreed to. They won't see the patchwork. The duct tape. The dirt under the rug. But that's because you left too soon. You left me too soon. You have moved on too soon.