this time of year
November 4th, 2009
The days grow short, the night overtakes, and my heart aches for the loss of you.
It’s always early November when I miss you the most.
Not the summers, even though we filled them with love and laughter, snow cones and shrimp. Not the holidays, when we were together more. But the slow increase of darkness always brings a slow increase of memory, and with it, the pang of absence.
I often wonder what you’d think of me now, in my wacky freaky life, but in my heart I know. I can feel you in the wind, loving me from beyond.
I love you, too.
