The neighbors must think I’m crazy—
music too loud,
laughing too hard when my sister visits,
talking to the neighborhood cats
like they answer.
But I cry too.
There’s nowhere left to do it.
My car doesn’t feel like hiding anymore,
no empty parking lots
that don’t already know me.
So I drive.
And somehow
I always end up here.
His headstone waits—
like it expects me.
The words in the epitaph
don’t change,
but I read them
like they might.
Here,
I don’t lower my voice.
I don’t soften my tone.
Grief comes out sharp,
unapologetic,
mine.
Where else could I go
that lets me be this loud?
Apr 28
Apr 28, 2026 at 10:19 PM UTC
The neighbors must think I’m crazy—
music too loud,
laughing too hard when my sister visits,
talking to the neighborhood cats
like they answer.
But I cry too.
There’s nowhere left to do it.
My car doesn’t feel like hiding anymore,
no empty parking lots
that don’t already know me.
So I drive.
And somehow
I always end up here.
His headstone waits—
like it expects me.
The words in the epitaph
don’t change,
but I read them
like they might.
Here,
I don’t lower my voice.
I don’t soften my tone.
Grief comes out sharp,
unapologetic,
mine.
Where else could I go
that lets me be this loud?
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