TILL DEATH DO US PART

You look like death.

I just need another cuppa.

No, you need to go home.

Right. Home. 

Everything is quiet. Not peaceful, just quiet. I’m wearing your favourite shirt, the navy blue one. I never knew why you liked it so much, plain and jaded, unlike your spirit. It still has your smell though, much like the rest of the house. The calls have stopped coming in, so have the letters. Everybody has moved on at this point, I hope.

The wake last weekend was a calm albeit pretentious affair. It was your Mum’s idea so I couldn’t say no. One last favour, I thought. There was a bar across the street from where we gathered. I should have just gone for a tipple, to hell with your family. Yet I stayed, for you. 

We weren’t good for each other, were we? The constant fighting on one end and cold dinners on the other. I can’t remember the last time we made love, or when we even said we loved each other. When did it all stop? When did the painful quiet start creeping in until we became the strangers that we were. What does it matter anyway? Rest in peace, my love.