Finally here, I've made it this far and now I'm trying so hard to keep it together. As hard as it is to admit it to myself, I came here because of you and I miss you more than you'll ever know.

Street hockey balls don't bounce.

I realized this today at Canadian Tire. I tried and some man laughed at me when I looked down at the un-bounced ball, defeated.

An inch is better than a mile.

This blog has never been one to convey my current state of emotions and woes, and I've always made sure that I wouldn't do that. But somehow I feel the urge to write and write about my state of affairs because at this point in my situation I don't know if I'm moving forward or backwards and having this here to post may be a good thing to look back at and say Kim, you fucking made it and look where you are now. (Me trying to be optimistic).



In light of my brimming sadness I went on a day trip to Fargo to hunt for junk, good junk. It kept me busy but generated morose thoughts. It was nice to be with good people and to do something that I enjoy, but I used to do all this with him, and those memories would flood back despite how hard I would push them back and try to turn that switch off.............tbc.



So, I said I would continue on with this post, but this subject/topic really makes me tired physically and emotionally. I really don't feel like opening this door again, and again and again. I'll just let it marinate in my head I suppose. This was sort of a tbc in it's own way.

Unit Black Flight - Tragedy on the 4th floor

Maybe one day in I can look back and say, "yeah, those were the fat days."

I wish that we could talk about it,
But there, that's the problem.
With someone new I couldn't start it,
Too late, for beginnings.
The little things that made me nervous,
Are gone, in a moment.
I miss the way we used to argue,
Locked, in your basement.


I wake up and the phone is ringing,
Surprised, as it's early.
And that should be the perfect warning,
That something's, a problem.
To tell the truth I saw it coming,
The way, you were breathing.
But nothing can prepare you for it,
The voice, on the other, end.


The worst is all the lovely weather,
I'm stunned, it's not raining.
The coffee isn't even bitter,
Because, what's the difference?
There's all the work that needs to be done,
It's late, for revision.
There's all the time and all the planning,
And songs, to be finished.


And it keeps coming,
And it keeps coming,
And it keeps coming,
Till the day it stops
I wish that we could talk about it,
But there, that's the problem.
With someone new I could have started,
Too late, for beginnings.
You're smaller than my wife imagined,
Surprised, you were human.
There shouldn't be this ring of silence,
But what, are the options?


When someone great is gone.
We're safe, for the moment.
Saved, For the moment.

"That's life for you," said McDunn. "Someone always waiting for someone who never comes home. Always someone loving some thing more than that thing loves them. And after a while you want to destroy whatever that thing is, so it can't hurt you no more." - R. Bradbury, The Fog Horn





M.Weaver

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