This isn't so bad I said two days after you died, Everything's the same. You're just not here. Look. I get up and make tea and you're just not here, that's all. I go swimming. I shop and I can carry groceries in with just one hand now. I can keep the house tidy and I don't have to cook. I watch movies. This is the life. Then I called you at 4 for tea. And you didn't answer. No matter how many times, you still didn't . Then the cat grew into a dog with pink eyes and shaggy matted fur, the grass already sodden with rain was watered all night with the hose. The people who came talked about the wrong books. I couldn't make them understand it was the young librarian not the movie critic. You said you'd take the cat to the vet, you said you didn't care what it cost you'd put new sod down, you said you'd make everyone understand what I was trying to say but then you went so damn far away. I kept calling and calling because I know the dead have memory. I know you remember my name. Everyone is here waiting.