I'm compartmentalizing my goodbyes, maybe so my sadness doesn't tsunami me. I'll start here: my bedroom, the most pleasant room in my home.
These days I'm surrounded by understatement, and here is another one.
I don't mean pleasant like a pleasant afternoon, or a pleasant breakfast, but pleasant like sometimes when I lay with Edie on my bed at dusk, and the warm twilight breeze curls around us both, and the rush of traffic sounds like water, my heart wants to break with contentedness. Pleasant like walking in after Edie is asleep, and seeing her cinematically lit by the streetlamp, or watching her unbroken sleep as a fire truck goes sirening by. Pleasant like waking to see the bright blue postage stamp of sky out my window, and smelling air that is summer sweet--and not just poetically sweet, but actually sweet--and letting it tempt me out to a morning run.
I mean pleasant like that.