It’s a bitter, sad, photo this one. I took it as I stepped out of the hospice after my wife died. I’m 47 years old. In all that time there has only ever been one woman who truly loved me with such depth. I’m not sure it will ever happen again. I have tried to love again. Trying to find that love again. It’s not easy. Yes, there have been attempts. The shit that goes through your mind when you try to pick up the pieces. People telling you how terrible you are for tying to find something again. I already felt it. First time I tried to have sex I almost puked from the guilt. Kept telling myself she was gone. It was ok. I don’t know anymore. Maybe I am too broken.

I’m kind of jealous, she’s free, free of pain, free of stress. She’s not up all night trying to figure out how to keep going as everything in your life gets more and more fucked up. I swear, this train is gonna wreck. There’s got to be a curve that I can’t take. Been close a few times.

If you ever find that right person hold on for all you have, do all that you know, try all that you don’t. Relish the moments. Not just the big things. Enjoy a picnic in a spring evening. Walk along a beach, have dinner in a shitty dive. Joke in the supermarket, pick up a cucumber and give her a look. Watch a movie at home. Join her in the shower. Perve as she climbs into bed. Take her to yard sales. Do it all, knowing that everything must end one day. Oh, and take photos. Because one day that’s all you will have left.