Letting go

I've become rather fond of grieving and I've developed an Oscar worthy far-away look that's heart-breaking. I start by gazing at the horizon with squinted eyes and a small smile, maybe a nod, then with an inward laugh I look skyward. After that I slowly lower my head and close my eyes in a long blink before opening them wide. Then, in a frightened stare, I mouth "why?" Thereafter I break the news of Rojo's death to anyone within earshot. Sympathy and self-pity isn't something I've ever wished for or sought out, but in this case for some reason I'm thoroughly enjoying it and I'm reluctant to move on.

I know he'd want me to be happy.