Someplace Else
Imagine if she didn't really die.
That it was her I saw this morning
having her breakfast, at the window that
looked out over the bay.
That our pain was imagined, and
her pain was a nightmare of mine.
That this morning, I woke up and remembered ... she lived someplace else.
Then again, maybe I just caught a small glimpse of her in her heaven.
A cottage, with a big window, and a view that looked out over the sea.
people become stories & stories become understanding