I come back from work, worn out and spent. Each night, I wake up mid-sleep, as if I had never gone to bed.
I walk to the kitchen and start pulling out cans and jars. My eyes don’t even have to see where my hands are going anymore, I remember what bottle lies on which stack just as I know the alphabet.
I follow your recipe to the dot.
The same amount of flour, a cup full of sugar, little chips of chocolate hidden amidst the dough like gems in sand.
But I could never bake them like you did. So by the time I finish, the house starts to feel very empty again, without you and your sweet-smelling cookie dough.
Some mornings I wake up only for you.
Thank you for embracing me without hurting my bones. For keeping the refrigerator stocked, filled to the brim with eggs.
For letting me walk you down the altar, weak and frail.
For forgoing not one, but two childhoods, yours and Susan’s, in my care.
I know living with me and my cancer is difficult, but thank you for never complaining about this untimely guest.
I will love you in life and in death, and I will try, for as long as possible, to be your
She is like an ellipsis, do you understand?
Like an eternal string of lights that brightens the Christmas tree without end.
She is like a candy that does not melt, a fountain of beauty that does not exhaust, an undying day.
She is the soft rain of snow lingering in the air.
She is so endless that it is impossible to hold her.
And hence I do not have her, even though she is all around me.