Hand Written

I cried for her today during my run. I wasn’t feeling particularly sad before my run but she has been on my mind a lot lately. It’s odd, the place where my mind goes when I run. It’s half prayer half day dream (with a dose of get me the fuck off this treadmill). It’s usual for me to listen to music and plan out the next song I want to keep me at my pace but today I let my iPhone be in charge and suddenly I was crying and listening to a song I didn’t remember I would normally avoid.

I’m in an odd place these days when it comes to death and what happens to us then. I didn’t come here to write to get into any of that but silently in my mind I couldn’t help yelling, “Where are you? I miss you.”

As soon as the song was over I was back in my zone. But when I walked through the kitchen after my run I noticed a recipe card sticking out of the cupboard. Oddly it’s a cupboard I don’t keep recipes in. A recipe she had hand written. I yanked it all the way out and examined her writing.

There she is.

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    togethertheycome at yahoo dot com
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