I’m dragged from sleep. The reality jolts me. In the moment before I open my eyes I have felt your legs entwined in mine. Your arm wrapped around my waist stroking that soft part.
Where are you?
The loss is as tangible as the heat you once radiated. Your breath on my now cold shoulder. Good morning my love.
The kettle boils. The children scrape their bowls, splattering milk on the table. The routine automatic. I have hidden your mugs so I’m not tempted to fill one. I make fresh coffee the way you would on a Sunday morning. The grind sticking in the sink. I wish I could complain about it again.
The familiarity brings tears. A longing so deep. Love that has no where to go. Did I tell you enough? Of course you knew. But now words are all I have, silently screamed into the universe in the hope you will hear.
Do I imagine the response?
I lean into the grief, into your arms. Neither will break or give. There is no weakness in my love and the hurt is fuelled by it. And in there burns another desire. In the hot wet tears I find my own strength. It must not fail me now. It cannot.
I listen to your chest. The delight in every beat. You kiss me and go for a run. Just a quick one before church.
I breathe.
I start another day. Another month without you.
At Louise's House 