All I can see is a debate on if we need one cart or two. Grabbing my cart, a lump forms in my throat. I swallow it down and push ahead. I go straight to the side of the superstore where the body washes and such are. One of the wheels on the cart is squeaky and spins.

I pass by the tampons and the make up, each step a memory. The nail polish is especially harsh. It’s on the end of the aisle and filled with so many colors. I see us picking out shades of blue to paint our nails together later that night.

The razors and shaving creams are next to the lotion you put on after shaving. I pick a bottle of the lotion up and a tear slips down my cheek before I return it to the shelf. She explained this to me as if it were liquid gold. I huff out a laugh. I’m crying in the aisle of a Walmart. I must look like I’m crazy.

The quiet store feels loud and lonely. And it is in the silence that I feel the absence of life. They say time heals all wounds. And now I know that is a lie. Time does not heal all wounds. It just makes it okay for you to move on. To keep going. Because time won’t stop for anyone, especially the dead.