byrobin
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musti.dab
There are still things I want to tell you.
Small things, mostly.
A plant I finally learned the name of.
Something stupid one of my cats did.
A sentence I heard on the street that would have made you laugh.
A tree somewhere in Berlin carrying fruit, the kind we would have stopped to inspect as if discovering it ourselves.
Sometimes something happens and my first thought is still:
I have to tell you this.
And for one tiny second, you still exist exactly where you used to.
Then I remember.
There is nowhere to send it anymore.
musti.dab
I think that’s one of the strangest things about losing someone who is still alive. Nothing disappears all at once.
The person leaves first.
The habits take longer.
The conversations you continue inside your head take even longer.
And the future might be the last thing to leave.
I don’t only miss you.
I miss things that never even happened.
Trips we talked about but never took.
Summers we never reached.
Ordinary Sundays.
Getting older.
Going to the swimming pool, just the two of us
Spending one New Year’s Eve together.
