The part I was not ready for was how ordinary everything stayed. The grocery store is full of items that still belong to a life with two adults making plans. I hate how much of love becomes passwords after death. I can keep the bills paid or I can breathe deeply, but not both on the same day. Her coat is still where she left it because moving it feels like agreeing with reality. I know all the account numbers now and I would trade every one of them for one more boring Tuesday. I miss being the second person in a private language. The house sounds wrong without her footsteps finding me. I am angry at every healthy person talking to me about efficiency. The old version of me is buried in this somewhere too.
The Wall
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