I know you are not in the burgundy SUV that's sat unmoving in the parking lot of my apartment building for half the year. But it feels like the only place I can go to be close to you.
What I mean to say is, I don't know what happens when we die but in case you're still hanging around I make sure to keep the interior clean.
And by that I mean, I know people do not remain in the material things they owned but those are the only pieces I have left of you.
And I guess this is just my way of admitting I haven't washed the shirt you were wearing before they rushed you to the hospital. It's hidden in the back of my drawer.
This is just my way of grieving or maybe it's my way of refusing to move on…