Little Details

My mind has been consumed by all the little details.
The ring I gave her that she wore till the end – the few meals I ate that weekend – the dress I wore – the tights I bought at Target that morning – the bar we went to after the viewing – the shower I took – the color of the flowers – the ugly sweater-set her mom insisted on putting her in – the badge I snuck in with her – the long drive home – the cold, metallic door-knob I was unable to turn – the songs we sang – the hugs I collapsed into – the fear when they closed the casket – the reality of her being lowered – the cold air that bit my neck – the warmth that followed, surrounding me – the scent of her childhood bedroom – the comfort of the floor by her bed – the beige blanket I couldn’t bring myself to slide under – the cold, tight skin of her hands – the taste of Marlboro menthol milds – the letter we taped back together – the slideshow of pictures repeating – the cups that we threw in the parkinglot – the coffee I seemed to be living off – the hits that we took in the hallway – the words that we changed in the readings – the bracelets I made – the fear of seeing her dad – the long walk to the front of the funeral home – the lingering, unwanted mourners – the pit in my stomach – the lump in my throat – the calm – the panic – the desperation – the realization – the numbness – the ignorance – the blackout.
The little details.
They’re flashes&glimpses of a time I still catch myself believing doesn’t exist.