Grief and my beating heart

Sunset, before the world falls into black.

Pressing into my jugular, I wait. Wait for the irregular heart beats--they don’t happen much anymore. Stress, they said. But I listen for them with my fingers. I want wrong beats to exert themselves. I keep anticipating more palpitations. Side effects from the medicine, they said. It’s terrifying when they happen, especially if I’m driving and everything falls into a black tunnel for a moment. But there’s something about wrong beats or extra beats that make me feel connected to Riley. Grief broke my heart. So I listen with my fingers pressed into my neck, feeling each beat as it pushes back against my fingers. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for my heart to be in sync with his. Just like it used to be.