Geneva, 2025 — late November arrives flushed with one foot in the door. Being far from home still feels like abseiling so I hold back and watch you cross a continent without me. A screen holds my hand now - distance is intangible but somehow I can feel the sensation of a plane taking off, then landing and a suitcase being dropped in a backseat.
The Swiss Alps in two dimensions make something inside me go cold. I hear you say you can’t separate them from zopiclone, or a paycheck which makes you reconsider if it’s ever even worth it. But I look at them with a different kind of ache. Not the sweet kind - the kind that has been tainted by the name of someone cherished.
I turn off my phone but it comes on again after ten minutes. I prop you up on the bedside table and see Maya Angelou’s even stars look lonesome in your hands.
Your childhood stuffed animal waves me goodnight and I return the gesture with mine.
Early morning floods the bedroom in blue. I sit up and feel a cup being lifted to my lips. I’m in that place where I don’t know if they are my hands or yours.
It’s December now and I’m watching you without me but this time we’re in the same kitchen. Quiet isn’t loud and stillness is something I nurture in order to stay upright. I leave the screen behind and reach out towards reality. Two night dresses hang beside each other on the radiator, two hairbrushes on the bathroom window sill and your necklace around my neck.
This is such gorgeous writing!
“i’m watching you without me.” that is just…..such a sad line. thank you for rattling my heart this morning.