My heart, my light, my (much) better half left us on 25 October 2020. This is the best I can do for now.
I lock the bathroom door. Privacy matters.
I don’t put my peanut-butter knife into the jam. You don’t care for that salty goop.
I switch the lights off when I leave the room. The electric bill doesn’t pay itself.
I vape outside. God, that stuff stinks.
I shrink Bruce-time to just one album per day. You could listen to something else.
Do you know how attentive I am?
Do you observe the attention in each gesture?
Do you appreciate my economy?
Do you?
Do you?
Do you?
Do you see me from the great beyond?
Do you hear the sudden sobs?
Do you feel the rawness of my skin?
Do you mind the absence of crying?
Do you notice how bloody careful I am?
Do you love me still from that place above the clouds?
Do you entrust me with your legacy, your gentle, true, kind wholeness? Your dignity, your persona, your magnificence?
Do you believe in my capacity for steadfastness?
Do you fathom the depth of my respect, do you know how you bewitched, bewildered and very rarely bothered me?
Do you give even the buttock of the smallest rodent on earth whether I switch off the fucking lights?
They all went off when you left me.
