Fierce Widow

I wish I could remember each and every day that we shared together, but the mind doesn’t work the way we would like it to. I remember the little things though, the important things.

Like the last words we spoke to each other, the last kiss we shared and the way he smiled at me the last time I saw him.

I vividly remember his gestures that day. He annoyingly rested his feet on the dash of the car while I drove. He reached over and placed his hand on my lap. His eyes playfully flirted with mine and still, to this day my heart races a little and I smile in that moment.

The moment where I find myself picturing a perfect memory as though it were happening in present time.

Like it were yesterday. My mind plays tricks and for a fleeting second it feels as though I just saw him.

I remember the way he would brush his fingers through my hair to put me to sleep and when the covers would slip he would gently pull them up over my shoulder. The soft forehead kisses, the way he would press his nose to my cheek and delicately kiss the corners of my mouth.

“Your hands tickle too softly” he would say, squirming away from my fingertips. And although it has been 265 days I can still remember the way he made me giggle like a school girl.

The smallest actions that allowed me to feel loved more than life. The little things that are now the big things and the things that I miss the most.

I wish I could remember his voice now.

In the first month after he passed I could hear his every word, spoken in perfect tone. I could picture his mannerisms as though it were a movie played with perfect clarity. Every angle his body moved, all of his habits that would normally be ignored, I could remember them all. Now almost nine months later I am only left with a faint recollection and a constant longing for what was and what could have been. A longing for him and for all the little things.

Will the day come that I forget the little things as well? I thought I’d always remember his voice and his gestures. He was unforgettable, how could I have forgotten anything at all?

His smell I only now know, as being similar to the bottle of cologne that sits in my drawer. His scent no longer lingers on the items he once wore. But I remember breathing him in, resting in his arms and telling him how much I loved his smell. I remember the masculine scent that would fill the air in the bathroom after he took a shower. If only his scent could have been bottled as well.

Is it so we can cope, is this the sense behind forgetting the unforgettable. Do our minds need to forget some things in order to allow room for new things? To allow room for healing. I find that not every memory plays the way they use to, memories are no longer as constant. I no longer reminisce on certain experiences as often, at 265 days the memories only seem to come forward when I am reminded of something we once did or a place we once visited.

“You will always be the best part of all the forgotten places we once loved”