I’ve sat in a hot bath in a dark room and cried until my tears were the only water that warmed me. I’ve carefully tucked photos inside envelopes, inside the pages of books, and then deep inside drawers I don’t open. I’ve sat at my desk from dark morning til dark night to avoid those hours at home, alone. I’ve pleaded and bargained with gods I don’t believe in, guilty and still greedy for their salvation. I’ve sung our songs til I lose my voice. I’ve bought two wedding dresses in hope; I’ve put two wedding dresses away. I’ve tried to stop telling stories with you at their centre and quickly ran out of things to say. I’ve driven past the park you proposed in, seen its colours change with the seasons of many years. I’ve marked anniversaries that don’t mean anything anymore. I’ve woken in the dark with a start. I’ve spent long nights awake. I’ve kept photos of you on my phone, too scared to delete all. I’ve questioned what I did wrong. I’ve slipped into one of your shirts. I’ve waited for you to change your mind. I’ve wondered if I’m losing mine. I’ve sent you messages I regret. I’ve felt the ribs surface beneath my skin. I’ve watched the silver spread through my hair. I’ve seen my reflection in a mirror and wondered who I am. I’ve endured dreams that you have a child who’s not mine. I’ve loved you fiercely since we first stood at your mother’s grave; I’ve whispered to her, asked her to help me. I’ve lied to my friends and to myself. I’ve felt self-indulgent. I’ve felt helplessly sad. I’ve tried to forget you. I’ve imagined every way you might come back to me. I’ve had no appetite since you left.

I Could Eat Again is on indefinite hiatus.
Thank you for reading, it means more to me than the best sandwich.

Weekly posts will resume Friday, July 18th.