There was a way she held her head,
cast her eyes across the interior of her hands,
then looked to me for help to understand.

There use to be a presence upon the mattress beside me,
a softly breathing heat that I would listen to before returning to sleep,
a quiet comfort I never fully appreciated at the time.

There use to be a laughter,
a smile occupying my passenger’s seat,
playing with the radio,
and fumbling maps from inside the glovebox.

There used to be a sound of water pouring coming from the kitchen sink,
the splash of dishes,
the sound of heated oil in a frying pan,
the smells that hint of culinary plans luring me to watch her operate the stovetop,
hoping to get a taste of the specialty she makes.

There use to be a side of me,
that laughed with full bravado, fearlessly,
unafraid of tomorrow’s emptiness,
unaware of the length of eternity.

There use to be a love for card games, coffee shops, and rain soaked walks in cemeteries.
Now there is only a love to live within those memories.