17 Months

Seventeen months since Adrian died, I am still wandering around aimlessly, filling days in order to fill them.

Not living—yet.

Not dead—yet.

Doing very well, thank you—people like to hear that.

I get up.  I work.  I create things.  What am I complaining about?

It’s a good life, anyone would say.

I don’t lie around and weep.

I don’t muck in the mud and debris.

I don’t ask anyone for help.

I take care of myself.

I take care of things.

I take care not to pay too much attention to the fact

   that I am lost,

   wandering aimlessly.

Not dead—yet.

Not living—yet.