stages of grief

My dear,
I came to see you today; they said it wasn’t a good idea, but I disagreed. Your quaint apartment hadn’t changed a bit, which was comforting. I knocked on your door. You didn’t come. I knocked again. You must have gone out, perhaps shopping, or to visit your mum.
I like your mum.

My dear,
I waited for you today; they said to come home, it wasn’t helping, but I stayed. I knew you would return soon. I sat outside your flat for an hour, maybe more. I lost track of time. The plant outside your door was dying, but I chuckled to myself, it was very characteristic of you. You barely finished things you started. Like me, I guess.

My dear,
I walked with you today; you were like a stone in my shoe, rolling around and catching on my toes. I shook and shook, but you wouldn’t get out of my head. It made me angry, if you were gone, why didn’t you stay gone! That stupid face you make when you’re concentrating stuck in my head like glue. I’ve always hated that expression.

My dear,
I ignored you today; you followed me around like a particularly annoying fly, buzzing in my ear and tickling my neck to get my attention. You were never demanding of attention like you are now, maybe you’re trying to make up for that. Well it’s too late now, you’re gone, and I’m still here. I hate you for that, or maybe I hate myself.

My dear,
I blamed myself today; maybe I could have done something to help, to keep you here for longer. I know how you hated how I always arranged our food into colours, keeping them separate. I should have spent more time arranging our love into colours, let it seep into everything and blend together. Maybe it would have worked.

My dear,
I wished you were here today; my frame felt cold without your comforting presence so I tried to warm it with bitter tasting liquid. It ran down my throat, burning as it went. My stomach felt deep and full and my head heavy but I was still empty and cold, as if there was something draining me. But there wasn’t. There was nothing.

My dear,
I needed you here today; my fragile body was crumbling around me. The foundations of the temple I lived in were cracked and bleeding, but no amount of plasters could fix the wounds in my head. They were ripped and torn, pain coursed through me like the blood from my pulsing veins.

My dear,
I saw you today; your eyes sparkled through the pretty primroses that scattered the countryside. Delight cascaded over me as I thought of how much you would love it here, sun streaming through the willow trees, efflorescent wildflowers dotted through the meadow like your lovely freckles, with exquisite butterflies and gentle insects flying softly through the summer breeze. The air was warm, like your smile; I feel happy here.

My dear,
I heard you today; your tinkling laugh flickered through the soft sounds of crashing waves that hit the rocky beaches. The shriek of a seagull echoed around the pier, resonating through my body like your delighted cries whenever you see something particularly beautiful. Like me. Well, that’s what you said.

My dear,
I felt you today; your joyful presence filled my body from head to toe. A warm glow seemed to burst from within me like the crackling fire in a cosy hearth. The heat clutched at me like your delicate hands and I held my face out to it, soaking in your company.
You were here. You are here with me.

june ⋅ 2014