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.