Post One Hundred and Ninety Four: It's Not Like The Movies, It's A Documentary on Evolution.

I wrote about him as if the sky would fall before we did.

I've lamented his connection to my writing. To my guitar. To my passport. To my skin.

To lemon meringue pie.

Now to the repetitive morning heartbreak, like the uncomfortable backlash from a late night kebab. I wake up with a burning chest, sobering to remember that we've indeed fallen apart.  

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An elderly lady lost her husband of fifty two years and I drove her to his grave today. A simple, dignified service was planned as we lowered his body into the soil. She wept, we prayed, and then we headed home.

On the way we talked about many things. Tofurkey, lavender, trucks, Officeworks, The Age. Then we spoke about love.

"What's the secret to a happy union?" I asked, as I often do.

"Knowing what battles to fight, and what to walk away from."