I'm busy copying documents at the moment, and I threw on some music over my headphones. I have the MP3 I made for a friend of the end credits from Master and Commander. That melody the captain and the doctor were playing the duet of as the ship heads off. I recorded that in May, about a month before Jody died. Wow, does it ever give me a lump in my throat. I guess I knew it would. Mornings back then when I was getting ready for work, I'd be humming it while I thought of him, wondering what was going to happen, never suspecting how short his time really was. And since then, when I think of him in the mornings, that melody has come to mind. It's such a longing, yearning melody that it hurts just to hear it again. Makes me think of Jenny now too.
I don't mind him being "gone" so much as I mind not being able to talk to him. The nature of our relationship was such that if I could just talk to him on ICQ from beyond the grave or something, it wouldn't hurt half as much. There's some part of my mind that doesn't quite understand why that isn't possible. It should be. I suppose I'm nothing special in that regard. That must be a common sensation for every human being who ever lost someone, whether living or dead.
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