Checking Tickets

I feel sore.  Like someone took a tool and scraped out my insides like a pumpkin ready for carving.  Only, there's no little light inside of me, lighting up my eyes and mouth.  There's nothing but a damp dark cave inside of me, molding and growing old.  

Why would any natural system find this to be a reasonable thing to do to a human who has hurt as much as me?  Why would the stars align in such a beautiful path and then scatter to the moon, the other planets.  I can't understand why the damp summer earth and the dry summer sky find it alright to drag a human against a rough cement sidewalk for so long and perk her up to another beautiful galaxy for a second, just to bring her down to the MilkyWay sidewalk once again.

I don't understand.  I don't understand autumn leaves and the smell of bonfires, thick beer running down my resting breasts.  I can't understand walking to the corner store and buying eggs and walking home and lighting candles.  Trivial things hardly make sense to me anymore, since my entire earthly existence is in question.  I have bigger problems to cook on my plate.  Like the fact that I don't even understand why the sun shines anymore since you aren't here.  You must have the sun in your pocket as you go about your perfect existence, waves echoing in the distance as you calmly pluck a tropical flower.

I just can't understand why I am here and why I am supposed to be here, living a life that is so painful every day.  The white walls in my apartment look whiter, and no matter how colorful it's contents, I feel as though I'm on a blank canvas with some dirty marks here and there, probably smudges from the sad tears flailing madly off of my aging face.  

I just can't understand, I won't understand, and I don't think I'll ever be at peace.

Until I see him again.