Sat at the window seat of a train, watching the beautiful English countryside passing by- trees, fields, roads, hills, houses, cars, fading sun, tall bullrushes – all speeding past me, not to reappear once gone.
While they all blur into one haze, it’s not.

Everyday I wake up in the same house.
I feed the same cats.
I use the same spoons and forks.
I drink tea from the same mugs.
Everyday I walk the walk, his last walk, to the station.

Every week I empty the same bins.
I mow the same lawn.
I buy the same groceries.
I visit the same coffee shop.
Every week I top up the same travel-card.

Every month I pay the same bills.
I file away the same documents.
I balance the same books.
I visit the same cinema hall.
Every month I visit the same restaurant.

Every year his same old birthday arrives in May.
I watch the same seasons go past.
I see the same friends off and on.
I learn to say ‘the year before last’.
Every year, days, weeks and months go by.

Not to reappear once gone.
While it all pretends to be the same, it’s not.