Agony

I keep the bedroom door closed now.

I have barely slept in our bed but like the room cool.

And tonight I had to open the door to get ready for hockey.

The whole room smells like you. I know it's because of your clothes and the blankets I won't wash and maybe from my teddy bear you so gently washed in the same detergent back when I told you how special she was because my nan gave her to me when I was 7.

I sleep with your pillow every night because it smells like you.

And last night I dropped mustard on the couch and waited to hear you say you told me o and I should always put a blanket down when it's hockey and food on the couch time.

But you didn't.

I managed to go to hockey again.

And every second on the ice my legs felt like they were about to give out.

I remembered I had forgotten to eat.

Me.

I had forgotten to eat and I can hear you now every time I came home and told you I had forgotten to eat.

BBQ nachos and wings delivered stat.

With a side of a little concern because you worry about me.

Now that big teal couch, the one we bought because I plopped into the "cuddler" (what the furniture guy called it) and told you I could read there forever.

"What my lady wants, my lady gets."

You said that so much.

Though all I ever wanted was you.

Okay, and that couch.

It's so big now without you, me and Colton on it watching Batman and him asking us who we would think would win out of two random superheroes and we would all hit Google.

Now I just look at the other end and wish you were on it, telling me to come curl up with you.

Agony.

This living without you is agony.

And I keep waiting for you to stroll through the door and tonight I pulled in the driveway and waited for the garage door to come up like you always did when I came home after hockey if you weren't playing too.

But it didn't.

Parts of me hurt I never knew existed.

Every time the clock hits 12:05 am I know it has been another full day without you.

And I miss you more than any words can ever express.