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I walked around outside the day you died.
I was expecting the world to look totally different without you in it.
But it had the audacity to look exactly the same.
“I kicked the bucket,” I can hear you say.
“Don’t think about me. You got your own life to worry about,” I hear you say.
As if I wouldn’t care that you left.
You left before my son learned to say your name.
You left before he was old enough to remember you.
He’ll have to rely on pictures.

I have a huge vat of “stress disability” chili in my fridge that I can’t eat. Because you gave me the recipe. And I talked to you about it just last night. And it will also have the audacity to remain exactly the same. It will be perfectly good and delicious food. How rude. It should turn grey and putrid and inedible. Or disappear completely.

This absurd day… this horrible to-do list… the stuff of my nightmares…

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