i miss her.
it’s been a year and a half roughly – and i still miss her.
the little things, the casual talk on the phone, the cabbage recipe, the enjoying of bananas or fish soup. nothing great or important, just the little, everyday, unimportant things.
the beautiful voice. the work-worn hands. the ‘life must go on’ attitude.
the quiet love, and the sighs when something went not the way she had wanted it.
the dreams, the implicit faith that all shall be well. not in general, but in particular, in the simple, little things. in daily mundanities.
i miss her, and i do not even have a name to what it is what i feel. it has been slightly less than a year and a half, but i am still sore, sore and unhealed from the loss of her.
and nothing i know can change that. i wish i had a name for what i feel. a simple, everyday name. a name that comes after death.