Everything in my universe keeps tells me to erase you.
Like an interception, in the form of a phone call
From a minister just before I began writing this.
And I've considered it, tried to...but I keep getting rid of it, that idea.
I could never erase you...even if the desire were truly there.
I have been so dedicated to God lately, every second has been
like open dialogue. Where I'm babbling on to Him like I used
to do to you. I wonder if I haven't been using Him as a distraction,
like I also used to do to you. But that is neither real nor a bad thing. Just a thing I think, I guess.

So they keep telling me to erase you. Teachers, mentors, pastors,
friends, spiritual mothers, and sometimes strangers.
It just makes me feel alone mostly. How could they understand at all
if that's their conclusion? But I guess they see things through better eyes
than mine. After all, my eyes are what caused all this trouble for you and I. I mull what they say over. I really have had a good time, I promise...But there is always this thing. Snapping me back into the world that I exist in...the world you no longer exist in...Like a parachute giving me whiplash when I was floating along beautifully without it.
It's a thing like the sheet music to "What A Wonderful World" appearing out of thin air. Or pulling in to church to find you right there. And I run from these things! Hold them close...shove them in the closet under piles of things I no longer use. But they always surface.
Like someone telling me the first time I meet them about Rebecca's cheek bones. Or Don Draper's face, which I swear will be yours in about ten years or so. Even a dinner with friends can't make you disappear because inevitably they'll ask me about you at some point. Or someone won't know you've gone away. Or I'll walk through the woods...after traveling by boat, after smiling until my heart explodes to hear a whisper on the wind...of your voice. But I can't complain.
Twould be far worse a fate to suffer never hearing, seeing, thinking, or dreaming of you again.