Restlessness
I walk through the house. It is empty; cleaned and vacuumed; empty. There is nothing to recognize; nowhere to sit and reminisce about home. I go to the backyard, where things are still familiar. There he is, as if there is nothing out of the ordinary. He talks of friends who passed and how their families handled it, as if I know the names or the stories. I don't. I try to commit these names to memory, in the event I need validation. I don't. I stop caring about the names and just relish the sound of his voice. I have forgotten its timber. His hair is thinning some, still brown. He stands tall in his slacks and double-pocketed shirt. It's almost as if he's just come from a walk at the duck pond. He locks eyes with me for a moment. He knows we share a secret. The sadness melts away. I notice now she's been standing there the whole time; content at his side. It is time for us to part. Until next time, I think. I return...