Monday December 11
You decided to wear those jeans. Those light washed jeans with the holes in the knees and the music note above the left pocket. You knew what you needed to do. You always knew. I realized you were serious when you wore those jeans. And I don’t know if I would have been supportive if you had asked me first. I might have told you it was a bit too on the nose. Or maybe infantilizing. Admittedly I’m not the best one to ask for my opinion about jeans. I have been told that my cynicism gets in the way of true happiness. But you didn’t need me to tell you what I thought. You already knew. You were waiting for your insides to know; to match the outside. And when we went into that funeral home and sat down a few rows from the casket, it all added it up anyway.