In the middle of a memory

The leaves are in the middle of their change. Stuck between green and red. Some orange and amber. Other the brightest yellow the eyes can see. The wind is starting to crisp and the air…the air is tumbling across our senses with the smells of love. The smells of spices and Woodstock. Of warmth and cider. Of nights yearning to be copied up in our hoodies just aching to be scared around fires full of laughter. It’s the time of the year that I look forward to. The time of the year I feel free. The time of the year my smiles are big and my arms open wide to accept the hugs of the giggles of Littles after a full day of pumpkin picking and candied apples…

But I’m stick. Up swept by emotion I can quite grasp, and as much as I want to smile I want to scream. As much as I want out I want this season to pass. As many things as I want to do the memories all tie to those two perfect years that I made them with you. And I can erase and erase and smile through and still they settle into the minds of the children. And there’s nothing I can do. You’ve resurfaced. There’s been questions of which I have no answers. Only to talk about you in the past. As if you’ve died and been buried like those we’ve had to say goodbye to. And that’s sad, that you’ve become a corpse. Just another memory. When you could have stayed so much more to them. To all of us. And you chose instead to commit and act so heinous it only equates to death. 

So we bury you, a few times a week. For you are not that far under the ground. We lay flowers at your site and move on ahain. Rebuilding out lives on top of what you left of us. I am determined to do these things without you. Though it tears at my heartstrings so. The colors are not as vibrant and the wind not so sweet. But I will still love this time I have. This is my season. These are my days. I will fight forward and one day I will be free…from the middle of a memory

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