Eddie Winston Is Looking for Love

by Marianne Cronin

somewhere, out there, grows the tree that will be the tree that will make your coffin. you must hope it is small only a seedling, only sap but it might be tall by now stretching its branches like arms into the sky. if I knew where it was, I would chop it down. I would return to the forest again and again with my axe, never resting, so that you might live forever.

What has this mirror reflected back to the woman over the years and how has that reflection changed? I wonder. And what is it lately, that this highly polished glass showed, or did not show, to the woman that she felt the need to banish it from her home forever? Did it whisper to her, You are not what you once were.

“I have never been particularly religious, but I believe in plenty.”

i don’t like the feeling of time moving on because it’s taking me further and further away from you, to a time when i forget your laugh or what it was like to hug you tightly

but i also want time to hurry up, to skip ahead to when my brain has categorized you as “dead.” when my subconscious doesn’t look for you in a room or my hands don’t get out my phone to message you when something funny happens.

“Love is really just two people who can’t keep away from each other.”

like you were coming by to say, hi don’t forget me let’s for a moment or for as long as your subconscious can generate me be together sit beside me, my old friend, there is so much to say

Why do we spend so much money on flowers for the dead but barely ever buy them for the living?

At a funeral, people are reminded of all the people they have lost before. Lots of people will be crying for other loved ones who’ve already passed.

But funerals remind us that we too will die one day, so we are crying for ourselves as well.