On the way home from the funeral, I drive past the guardrail where the accident took place, the striped tape flickering in the wind. I feel the wheels pull towards the spot. Something in me yearns for closure. Crows at the roadside are roosting in a pack, a flock, a murder.
Your empty seatbelt snaps back into place like the ghost of a leave-taking. I take it as a caution; not to join you, too soon. I have to live for two of us now.
The warning sign, loud in red and white, says ‘no turning back’ but I do.
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