Sixty...

It’s June 20th. Sixty days have gone by since Rob died. It still doesn’t seem real. Still doesn’t seem like that much time has passed. We’re all still going on with life, working, living, whatever.
After work, I join the masses of lunatics on the Atlanta roads, trying to get home. When he was here I’d hurry home, shower and get all sparkled up for him. I’d constantly walk back and forth from my room to the kitchen trying to see if I heard his car door lock or see if I could catch a glimpse of him through the glass of my front door before he knocked.
It’s taken me sixty days to stop waiting for him to show up on my door step. I no longer race back and forth through my apartment, but quietly hibernate through the weekend like I used to before I met Rob. I loathe the insanity that packs itself into every restaurant and bar that lines N. Highland. It was more tolerable when Rob was here but we both weren’t fans of trying to narrow down places to eat without long waits.
One of my clients said to me today, “You have an angel now. Someone needed him for a bigger job somewhere else.”
I hear her, I do and I believe her, it’s just that he was my angel right here next to me when he was alive.
I park in Guatemala and walk to my house. I go for a nice long run and see South Carolina car tags everywhere. I swear it’s him saying hello and making his presence known. I haven’t seen that many in one day since…well…ever.
I’m feelin’ a bit quiet today so I’ll stop here.