There are things you remember.
But so many more things that you forget.
You remember disagreements, you remember arguments over the silliest of things.
You forget kindness. You forget smiles in the morning. You forget artifacts of acts of love until they’re staring you in the face in your apartment.
Two words that at one time you imagined to be so empowering, but are now so debilitating.
You think back to years ago, carrying boxes, sweat streaming down your back, a smile on your face. You think back to soft debates about the decorations, where you ended up with too many pictures on the wall.
Now, those places where she has removed the pictures feel like an abyss. Black holes in your apartment for your heart to rummage in when it’s not with you.
You see remnants throughout your apartment of your lives together. A decorated coffee cup. Beads from early on. A book, that was a birthday present. And its wrapping- a map with cassette tape as its ribbon- both things touching two of your loves.
You move past them in the same way that you try to move on.
But you come back. You grab a necklace of beads like a rosary and fall to your knees to pray. Your prayer comes out as whimpers, personal and silent.
You’re not sure if G-d is listening, but you can’t help but think he does. Every now and then. Not for his sake, but for ours.