Jig Saw Funeral

I feel in love once.  Well, many times.  But just with her. The story is pretty average so don‘t get your hopes up.  Oh and she won’t have a name yet cause I can’t decide on one.  Names aren’t important anyways.



We just kind of bumped into each other and clicked.  Like two pieces of a puzzle that just fit.  When you put them together you don’t think, “Holy cow! That was nuclear mushroom cloud amazing!”, you just get this good, fun, completed feeling.  As time passed she changed here and there.  Hair was brown one moment, blonde the next.  Maybe a little thinner or a little thicker, taller or shorter, (heels?) but that connection of ours just floated above it all unaltered.  I think I loved being in love with her and knowing she was with me, the most.  We were so happy.  Happy doesn’t seem to cut it in this sense though.  It was a steady, content, solid kind of joy.  Then, it’d just vanish.  Cease to exist like. She’d pass as a rare breeze on a hot a muggy day.  Just gone.



I’d get on with my day though.  Wake up, shower, eat, work, eat, work, eat, hope, sleep.  I don’t talk about it with others.  Don’t let it affect my work or relationships with friends and family.  It’s a had and lost thing that you just can’t control, right?  Days, weeks, months.  That puzzle piece missing.  The lingering feeling of what it was like, ever present.  I can’t say if those feelings are good or bad.  It’s the remembrance of love, smiles and laughter being smashed together in a car crash with those of loss and emptiness.  Kind of like a funeral.  Yeah, that fits.



And then she would just return.  Really I don’t know why or how but that she would just be there again.  Like she never left.  Questions about the absence don‘t even enter my mind.  That would distract from being together again.  Wheel turns, next day, poof, she’s gone. 



  I hate funerals.  I hate waking up.  Shower, eat, work, eat, work, eat, hope, sleep.