widowing.
when ordinary life still expects there to be two of you.
you're standing in the grocery store,
looking at two of something
before remembering.
you put one back.
your life remembered them
before you did.
the two of you built routines
without calling them routines.
you made the coffee
the way you made the coffee.
you locked the door.
they knew why.
then they died.
you kept doing it
the same way.
now you're the only person
who knows why.
calling the plumber
isn't the hard part.
being the only one
who decides whether to call
is.
there used to be someone else
who knew what we would do.
now whatever you decide
becomes the decision.
the future had two people
in it too.
we'll go there someday.
you thought you were making a plan.
you were also deciding
who would be there.
they died.
someday
kept coming.
they knew things about you
no one else needed to know.
the story
you didn't have to finish.
what you meant
without explaining it.
they weren't only part
of your history.
they remembered it
with you.
now there are parts
of your life together
that only exist
because you remember them.
people see
one person now.
but the life you're standing in
was made by two.
they died.
the life the two of you made
didn't.
you were the one
left inside it.
