Mastering Mustering.

Sometimes, I forget that you're no longer around.

"Let's get this for ..."

My voice tapers off into that deep dwelling festooned with a motion for reality.

Come Christmas and birthdays, a wallet, belt or other constructions of leather would plead for allegiance in the attention department.

And I comply, if ever so briefly.

I motion my will to register the inscription validated by the yellowed scrawls.

It flounders.

Koo, I miss you so much.

When darkness falls, the blanket of stars cloaks my sadness.

My eyelids draw to a close and a trickle falls, unbroken.