Writing Stuff

I’ve come to a point where I’m not sure how to feel or what to do next. It’s been 3 weeks now since Nige died. The funeral is over, the gorgeous bouquets of flowers have wilted and withered, and the memories are fading. So I guess I’m just going to write stuff and see what happens. Here goes.

When I go into the bedroom I feel a pull between sadness for the loss I feel, versus sadness for a man who suffered so much while living. I’m so angry that you had to suffer.


Where did you go? Are you in a box? A fingerprint?

Your wedding ring, tungsten infinity, is snug on my finger.

This smooth, grey, stone with “believe” etched on it.

Are you in the empty clothes scattered around our room, waiting for your return? You have left only for a moment. How will I lie to myself when they gather dust? Slippers, robe, jackets and socks.

There – in your endless white bottles of pills, needles, a get well soon balloon. Or if not there then surely beneath your pillowcase as I breath the fading scent.

The bath towel I cannot bear to wash.

All laid out, waiting, waiting.

For the absence to disappear.

As the flowers droop and release petals and pollen, I feel the distance stretch out to the stars and I grasp at Orion’s belt. We love you to the moon and back we cry, but please no further.

We cannot endure the gaping silences you left behind. We cannot let them close. Scratching to tear the wounds open again, and again.

An unused wallet, photos on a stick. Growing cold as your energy leaves, becoming nothing more than objects on a table.

The balled up tissues in your jacket pocket a secret to discover later. The shape of the jacket filled out by the back of a chair, this poor substitute will receive my embrace.

A rose and a song to carry me on, though wherever I walk a large gap keeps stride.

The reason that I could never imagine you out of my life was simple. You were me and I you.

I bundle up your children both to protect and for comfort, we three parts of you. Trudging forward, gathering up the golden threads and trailing them behind us, always.





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