Day 63

Bill is in the hospital. Last night when I came home alone my imagination started weaving all kinds of new plots. I imagined myself living here alone: getting up in the morning to an empty kitchen, the bar stool he normally fills while he drinks his coffee and reads the morning newspaper empty. I imagined going to the co-op alone: sitting by myself at a table eating deli food made bland by the lack of conversation. I imagined myself watching television alone at night: staring blankly at the screen wishing for a some witty commentary, the kind Bill is so good at. I imagined sleeping all alone in our big king sized bed, the one we picked out together, the one that was never intended for one person.

I used to think that I didn't have much imagination. Yet I have always written these kinds of stories. They are stories grounded in fear. I see now that imagination can be a dangerous vessel. It can take me to the darkest corners of my soul. It is up to me to navigate and steer. It is up to me to be aware and use my imagination to create something that is grounded in love rather than fear.