Signs point onward and inward.
Sad as it may be. Sad as it makes me.
Onward and inward.
There will be a picture of you that sits on my mantle.
And the fireplace will crackle.
And the birds will sing.
And I will write.
I will write of you.
And I will follow these signs, as difficult as it may be. I will.
I suspect I’ve no other choice.