He Used To
He didn’t say hello. He didn’t say goodbye. The thing that struck me hardest was that he used to. He used to bring me coffee in bed. He used to sing love songs to me in the shower. He used to kiss me, just because he could. I was his, and he was mine.
When it first started, I told myself he was having a bad day. A few days passed, then a week. It turned into months and then years. Slowly they rolled by, painfully.
Now it seems a dream that he used to.
His smile, still there, lingering in my memory, is the only remainder now.
* * *
The snow beneath my skirt started to drench beneath it where I knelt. I rang my finger one last time along the edge of the gravestone. My tears traveled slowly down my cheek, dripping onto the ice where they froze instantly.
I kissed the tips of the red roses and let them fall to the ground. I inhaled deeply, the cold air seeming to freeze my lungs.
I had to move on. I had to start again, without him.
But of course, I had my memories to keep me company.