A piece about grief

Almost April now, I drive with the windows down. Even the sunshine and sweet air carry guilt and discomfort. 

The thing with grief is that it seeps into everything.

If I try hard enough, even the keyboard I am typing on is you. (It reminds me of my old keyboard that I used to type on during zoom calls in painting class together.) 

And of course, on this 50-degree Monday, stopped at a 4-way, my anticipation for spring halted as I remembered how sad you were about the impending autumn. You knew this fall would be different.