Your Grave

Your grave site serves no purpose for me yet.

The bench with your name and your funny quip sits without my having sat.

I think often of the side trip on the way to work

Or of eating myself full before or after at the enormous portions breakfast stop.

But then I don’t go and I don’t stop.

Nearly 18 months have gone by.

I wonder if I am neglectful.

As if I’ve forgotten,

But most days it’s still like you’re here.

Stopping on my own volition,

I think would take that away.

In a strange way, I’m glad that sometimes we’d go days without speaking,

and weeks without seeing each other.

Without those empty spaces,

I don’t know how I could survive

This large,

Cold,

Empty space.