Like every other day I missed you;
Like very moment of every hour of every day.
Waking up; it was cold and I thought of our snuggles under the duvet.
Xali between us as we would chat about the day ahead.

I remembered this time last year. It hurt.
You in a hospital room waiting news.
Me visiting and never having enough hours in the day.
Both ignorant of the shock to come.

I returned from town greeted by the kids, not your voice.
I made soup for lunch, a mundane task that yet held memories.
An hour’s siesta reminded me again of how big the bed is without you.
I whatsapped with Nick, somethings don’t change.

I’m returning to our (my?) bed now.
My “Goodnight, love you loads,”  not echoed.
Snuggled with our kids: six more warm bodies each vying for space.
And still it’s your body I miss, as I hope for sleep and oblivion.






1 Comment

Filed under Contemporary

One response to “Today

  1. edita

    I remember

Let me know what you think.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s