lizblackdog (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lizblackdog) wrote2005-11-16 07:54 pm
lizblackdog) wrote2005-11-16 07:54 pm
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Winter grey and falling rain, we'll see summer come again
Just took the dogs out. The night was cold and crispy and the sky clear, and the first thing I saw was a shooting star.
Something I didn't mention yesterday to anybody, online or in the flesh, was that yesterday was the sixth anniversary of John's death. I certainly didn't forget it - rather, I made a conscious decision not to react to it in a sentimental or melancholy fashion. John - although he was both an idealist and a romantic in his own cynical, snarky way - was one of the least sentimental people I ever met, and the last person in the world to expect me to remember our love in any other way except living and loving as hard and as well as I could. So that was what I did.
But the star felt like a tangible, visible sign to go with the less obvious ones of the last few months. For the first time in six years, I dare to hope he may have forgiven me.
Something I didn't mention yesterday to anybody, online or in the flesh, was that yesterday was the sixth anniversary of John's death. I certainly didn't forget it - rather, I made a conscious decision not to react to it in a sentimental or melancholy fashion. John - although he was both an idealist and a romantic in his own cynical, snarky way - was one of the least sentimental people I ever met, and the last person in the world to expect me to remember our love in any other way except living and loving as hard and as well as I could. So that was what I did.
But the star felt like a tangible, visible sign to go with the less obvious ones of the last few months. For the first time in six years, I dare to hope he may have forgiven me.
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