Day 865

IMG_0567

Work is good.
Ikebana is beautiful.
Friends are lovely.
The weather is not bad.
The volunteering is going well.
Meditations are peaceful.
Writing is fun.
Si is a blessing.
Family is great.
Smiles and laughter are coming back.
Music is returning.
Good things are happening.
Saagar’s friends are sweet.
Energetically, things feel positive.
All is well.

But I miss him.
I miss him to death. It kills me.
I miss his smile, his hugs, his smell, his voice, his jokes, his brilliance, his light.
I miss the way he made me feel.
I miss what we had and what we could have had.
I miss the cup of tea he would sometimes make for me.
I miss everything about him. I wonder if he knows how much. Our texts, our conversations, out silent communications, our shopping sprees, our travels… I miss them all. Even though he is always present, I miss him like hell. Nothing seems to lessen the missing. It is always there, like an unbearable part of me. The wretched missing and me are incurably, painfully one.

Day 844

Maybe he has a nice little flat to himself up there, with a high ceiling, big windows and an airy verandah, properly kitted out with a fancy drum kit, a ping-pong table and a cricket pitch nearby. Maybe he hangs out with his new friends and they talk about ‘stuff’ and go to the gym together. They possibly do all kinds of accents and have a good laugh. Maybe they have fancy dress  parties too. Maybe he cooks meatball curry for them and they tell each other stories about their time on Earth.

Maybe he sometimes looks down at his house that is now like a shrine filled with flowers and candles, his Mum’s eyes now lustreless, some of his socks and t-shirts that she pretends to borrow from him, his fine black Sharpie pen in her bag along with a random Arabic worksheet of his from University, Milkshake fast asleep against his favourite rectangular blue floral cushion from Ikea. Maybe he can also hear the deep haunting silence.

Maybe he remembers what happened that day. Maybe he regrets it. Maybe he visits and revisits. Maybe he is right here, right now.