Erasure

The art of moving on.

A new level of bittersweet, moving forward. Keeping a part of the missing alive. I find out as I approach each new day. Feeling. Remembering.

The sharp jab comes more intermittently, the dull ache a companion. The sense of loss redefined in daily situations. Longer spaces between breaths. The smell, touch and taste of the life gone, still seared on my inner eye.

I've picked up my camera. My video camera. We do what we know and make incremental changes. Life. I've exposed myself in the process. I'm asked, 'Where's Rich?', by someone that expects to see him taking photographs.

He's in the smell of the closet that I have no reason to open. No longer energetically in every cell vibrating throughout every moment. Bittersweet. He is left in a memory of being here, unable to go on every first journey.

Everything I am, and do, has Richard in it, yet he is becoming more invisible in the process of my becoming and doing. Erased by firsts, seconds and thirds, all the steps I must take to redefine myself, 'move on'.

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