Hard Beat

We talk a bit more, nothing of any importance, no mention of where I am or when I’m going home, but when we hang up, I find my mind wandering to the bottle of bubbles on my makeshift desk in this little cabin beside my laptop. I debate writing, but there are just too many memories today, too many things that have made my chest ache and my thoughts wander to what ifs. And the only way to fix that is to sleep so that I can dream again. Grief may change shape, but it never ends.