the weirdo connection
Most of the time I don’t miss her.
And when I do it rarely aches.
But sometimes it does.
Like the other day when I was driving.
And to be clear this is not a sexual ache or a lonely ache.
I wish it was that.
The strange thing is that it’s a strange ache.
An ache to share something that is weird.
And be even clearer I was in a car when it happened but I wasn’t actually driving.
I was sitting at a light.
Watching an old man walk back to his house with the mail.
What made it odd was that the man appeared ancient, well over five hundred years old.
And when I say I walk I mean at a pace that was almost indistinguishable from standing.
I’ve never seen a living thing move so slow.
And that’s why I wanted her there with me.
Because only she would laugh at what I said aloud to nobody.
“And that’s probably yesterday’s mail.”
She would have instantly understood what I meant. Truly gotten it. We had that weird connection. That he had been on the way back from his mailbox for at least a day and a half and how funny that was. What a brilliant observation I had made. And then she would have asked, with complete sincerity, if the man had perhaps seen the mailman return earlier that same day with additional mail and debated whether or not to turn back around to collect the new mail or continue his journey back to his house.
I heard her voice as she asked it.
And I laughed out loud.
And I missed her.
Someday we’ll find it
The Weirdo Connection
The lovers, the dreamers and me…
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