Both Hands Holding Nothing 

When I’m  alone. I still lay on the wrong side of the bed. My left hand reaches for what’s not there anymore. So many memories have faded. But I remember having my hand on her hip, as we slept. 
It seems like such a shame that 10 years can be blurred and erased in 10 months. Washed in bitterness and pain. 

I couldn’t remember if she wore glasses the other day, such a silly detail, and it hurt so badly. I think I’ll always remember her next to me though. When I’m alone I shift to the right. Where I used to sleep beside her. My hand finds empty air.  It clenches and seems lost.