Not to anything that floats. Some of it is junk; some is poison. Standing in the living room at the cabinet of drawers that belonged to my father, where now I keep my tarot deck, I did not clear my mind. I did not ask a question. As I was shuffling the deck, I thought of all the friends who've sent well-wishes, and a jagged thought came by, and I selfishly grabbed it: *you wouldn't feel that way if you knew what a poor husband I'd been*.
And the card I turned was a gentle but firm reminder of what we did indeed have: the Lovers.
And I let the bad thought go.
Rodney Gomez: A Short Tablature of Loss
2 months ago