I know you won't answer. But I called anyway. Just to hear the ring.
I found your newspaper on the stoop this morning. The one you never picked up. I opened it to the horoscope out of habit.
Virgo. 'A change is coming. Trust the path.'
You always trusted the path. You had that map on your wall — the whole state of Montana, one route highlighted in yellow. You told me once you were going to drive it.
I'm saving for a wedding now. Diana and me, we're moving to a place with a yard. It's starting over, I guess.
The upstairs neighbor — the new one — he plays music too loud. I think of you and your quiet.
I folded the map and put it in my pocket. It's on my dresser now. I look at that yellow line and I think: maybe I'll drive it someday.
Anyway. That's all. I just wanted you to know someone read your horoscope.