How we lost you
How I lost you
I always think of you on sunny days.
I think that you’ve seen how miserable the cold and the ice and the work have made me, and you’ve sent me a little sunshine to help.
I think of you when I go to your house and it smells like food, because it doesn’t smell like your food.
I think of you when the leaves change in the fall, and again when they change in the spring.
I think of you when I think of my mother, and the sliver of light that faded from her eyes after you. A piece of innocence only you could take.
But the truth is, I think about you less.
Your birthday is etched into my mind, your anniversary engraved in my biological clock.
Your voice is faded, far away.
Your face is blurry, different from the pictures.
They say I have your hands, but even that feels unfamiliar sometimes.
Stories become jumbled up, memories feel unreliable.
The only thing I know for certain is the pain stabbing my heart when I felt you leave, and the way it broke when the phone rang to tell me what I already knew.
I miss you every day.