June 18, 2020

To the One who Once Loved Me: I’m Not Ready to Let Go.


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I saw you today as I took a sip of Dr. Pepper.

I was walking on the boardwalk and looked up at the evergreen trees.

Then I heard a man next to me (with your voice) ask for soup instead of fries. I giggled at the thought of another soul who despises potatoes. The waitress looked concerned for the poor guy, as anyone should be.

I saw you today when I reached for the soap in my shower. I saw you when I put on my boots. I saw you when I looked through the lens of the camera you gave me. I could look through that lens all day.

A pickup truck drove by, and I heard you in the faint lyrics coming through the crack of the window.

I passed the Cheerios at the grocery store, bought some roses, and walked down the popcorn aisle. I met you again as I picked out a jar of spaghetti sauce.

As I stood in line, tears began to stream down my face. I saw you when I put my hand to my heart and inhaled.

When I got home, I opened the fridge. I’m making pasta tonight. I wish you were here to cook the sausage—even though I’m a vegetarian now.

I saw you today as I do every day.

Some say it’s time to put you down, but I can’t. You’re sprinkled throughout my day. And I love it.

Maybe you’ve moved on, and maybe I should too.

I can’t, though. Not yet. Not right now.

I saw you again this evening. I made some chocolate chip cookies and sat looking at the evergreen trees. I never liked Dr. Pepper until I met you.

I ran out, so I went back to the store.

I walked passed the Cheerios and picked out a new spaghetti sauce. I started to cry and put my hand to my heart.

Good evening, mister, I whispered.

I passed the meat section again without glancing. I’m a vegetarian, after all. I picked up a bottle of soap and the only vegetable you eat (green beans in a can).

I’m not sure what I’m going to make for dinner. I think I’ll make pasta.

I wish you were here to cook the meat.

It’s okay, though.

I’m a vegetarian now.

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