You have not called me in weeks. I have not felt the touch of your carress in months. It is getting harder and harder to remember what your smelled like on Sunday mornings, after a late morning slumber. My memory is fading, slowly erasing you from my existence. I wish it could erase the pain I feel when I reach over with my arm in the morning to an empty spot on the bed.
I come home sometimes, eager to tell you about my day, or what the dumb boss said this time, only to realise, you are not there to hear the story. I check my call log, again, yet you did not call for the 10th time today. I read a funny story, or see a funny news report, and you are not there to share it. I tell a funny joke, yet you are not there to laugh at it.
I cook diner for two. I put half of it in the fridge.
