I hope you’re well

The car was entombed in ice this morning, but when I pulled out the driveway the sun through the wet window melted the bright blue sky into magic and just as the light bursted, ‘for no one,’ by the Beatles started (your day breaks, your mind aches), followed by another heartache song, an angrier, more empowered one, and I started thinking about you, how far I am from being angry and sad, how I hope you can listen to those songs and feel the ways you need to feel, and how long it’s been since I said something like this. 

I was on my way to the vet to pick up the boy’s prescription. In the parking lot, a man hoisted his black and gray old dog out of the back seat. She couldn’t walk to the door herself. Inside, she trembled in his arms. I accidentally cut ahead of the man in line but he didn’t mind. He smiled faintly, asked how I was, with the sort of bittersweet, soft kindness that washes over someone who’s about to lose someone close, and as I walked out the door I started to cry. The feeling took me by surprise, pulled the rug of bland morning routine right out from under me, and I could barely contain myself getting into the car to drive home, but it also felt good, felt real, with tears in red eyes, with the bright blue sky, such a beautiful day, such a need to race home and get it all down for you, for no one. 

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