The Yellow Ribbon

Funny how it hits me sometimes, a certain look, a turn of phrase, and it’s as if you weren’t gone.

Today it came in the form of a yellow ribbon, tied with care but hopelessly crooked, decorating one of only two gifts you gave her.

And now I’m a blubbering mess when I ought to be cooking or cleaning or one of the million other ways we fill our time and avoid the inevitable.

But the sadness, and the joy, are always just below the surface, the past waiting to bubble over into today. As if there were no difference.

And maybe there isn’t. Maybe we are all tied together by the yellow ribbon.


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