First night

There has to be a first night.
There has to be.
No recourse, no reprieve, no escape from the burning dungeons.

She's gone. Not suddenly, not without notice.
But the heart is always a bit late. Not late really, just not in the future, that's all.

I knew for so long that 5th August was to be the day.

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Almost empty wardrobes, dust on the floor, the bedroom furnished yet not.

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No goodbyes. A small halt near the door. To see whether I'd come out of the bedroom. I didn't. Sat there in relief and in sorrow.

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Big memories packed into one of the cartons. Small memories fluttering like pieces of duct tape. Clinging on in unexpected places. Removing themselves with yelps of uprooted roots.

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What does it feel like, what SHOULD it feel like, I wonder. To think that you'll be alone for a long time. It's heavy and murky in there. Dark with disappointment, sluggish with disbelief.

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Memories detonate inside without notice. TV, fridge, sink, toothpaste, shoe-rack, chest of drawers. Only me now dears, to pull your ears. The knobs and handles must be carrying her fingerprints yet.

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Bed seems double the size permanently. A bit of moonlight on the empty space. Smiling in wrinkles across the body print. Smoothen it out. The cold light plays on my knuckles, soothing.

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Shouldn't I write a poem or something? God knows when I'll feel this way again.

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