For the one that doesn't exist

We are sitting in our backyard. I reach over and touch the cornerstone of my home. I don't need words here, I don't need actions.

I have too many memories, that's why I don't like to think. When I think, I wonder why we let children get old and learn things we once hid from them. I wonder what the point is of knowing when I don't really want to know.

But I don't have to worry about that here. We're in the shade of two mulberry trees on a hot summer day in the Bermuda grass. I'm happy about what I don't know. I'm happy because knowing it would keep me away from you.

I come back to reality. Here, where you don't exist. Everyday, hidden behind every interaction, I am pouring libations on your grave that you might speak to me, I am building you an altar.