Today is not your 42nd birthday because the time for those is through. I’m pretty sure today is a celebration where you are. Tomorrow will be, too.
I saw you, yesterday, for a moment on the corner of Broadway and Alder, but the truth is that 18 months has passed since your feet last walked there, so full of life and happiness. I could see you smiling as you roamed the city streets with the kids. Christmas lights in the square reflected off your eyes and nothing could ever change.
But our town feels vacant with your shadow no longer cast on its bricks and the streets so in need of revival. The ring of children’s laughter was carried away on a stiff December breeze, yet the late spring calls for a reunion. Will it ever come? How could it ever be the same?
It’s still raining on Southwest Morrison. The even drizzle sticks to everything and makes it hard for the few passing strangers to see my tears. I know that in the land of endless sun, you probably don’t need rain. At least, not nearly as much as I need it today.
All the complete incompletions of our young lives float in puddles here on these streets and I keep hoping to catch a glimpse. It’s as if you’re there, outside of time and space, in an ever-fading flow of memory, but still I search.
Won’t you come find me?
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