Day 200

As autumn rolls into Chicago, I find myself clinging ferociously to my memories of Constance. The fall breeze provides a cold slap of realization that time marches painfully on without her. I want to dig my fingers into the ground. I want to climb down and bury myself in a hibernation hole. I want to cling to every inch of her.

The bitterness of the needless loss of her has petrified me in a solid, unmoving state. I am forever standing in her hospital room. Forever begging unflinching God to save her. Forever saying no, no, no, no, no, not Constance.

I hold myself for a small eternity. I rock back and forth imagining I was holding her, rocking her. Imagining I was operating my own time machine. Imagining the past. Imagining a fanciful future.

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