“How are you?” They ask, concerned. Pat comes the reply, “I’m fine.”
Sometimes I am. I’m going about my day, doing all the things that I must. I even crack a joke or two, at my expense. They smile, rather uncertainly. Not knowing whether making that joke was inappropriate or would laughing on it be.
For a few minutes, I forget why I feel sad, battered. Then, a wave of sadness hits me and I can’t do anything. Words dry up, fingers stop typing. I remember you’re gone.
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