She is there in the morning, waking beside me. She goes out to the kitchen and makes tea. I hear her turn on the radio. I am waking to the sound of her humming that pop song that’s always playing, to the kettle boiling, to her smiling eyes.
The house shows she has been here and that she is coming back. Her bag, her clothes, her toothbrush, the smell of her shampoo. A photo in a frame on the shelves in the living room – it shows her face and mine. There is a note on the table. It’s in her handwriting, a loopy scribble in black ink, saying have a good day, darling, see you tonight, xo.
I have a busy day with work and errands, phone calls and traffic jams. I heave myself through the door and dump my bags. The dog needs feeding and patting. I get a beer from the fridge and put the lasagne in the oven.
The sun is setting when I hear the gate open and close. The doorknob turns, and she is there. Her ‘hello’, her sighs, her beautiful tired eyes.
Now the morning is silent without her.
The Wordy Way 