Love letter # 138

Earlier, sitting where you used to, watching, I saw right through them. The crowds, so busy. Anything but stop and notice. Rush, swipe, buy. The dazzle of distraction.

And there, in the hollow, I felt the space you have now vacated. Your imprint, so subtle, very nearly nothing at all. A kindness, a reminder.

Later, alone, staring at the wall, I heard you whisper. Behind the veneer – their bustle, our judgement – they are all us. Each one vaguely lost, half anchored to something they cannot name. With our love, we too tried to paper over it.

Now we remain with what we are.

The void we fill with what we are not.

You have gone, for which I am slowly learning to give thanks; because your absence is a mirror, and in it I see at last the still centre. There, reflected, wearing my skin, you. Here.

Tomorrow, someday soon, I will be at peace with this.