As the weeks and months pass, I find myself missing him more and more. I worry that I am going to forget him; forget what he looked like, forget what he smelt like, forget what he sounded like, forget what he felt like. It feels like our marriage was a lifetime ago, and I sometimes even doubt its reality.
I find myself wearing his clothes, using his deodorant, listening to his music, reading his books. Mostly just wishing it didn’t have to be this way.