Point blank

A first weekend without her and everything seems different. My dresses are a lighter shade of black, the flowers in the window have lost their scent and the marble in the hallway absorbs all the light from the morning. Even the wines taste differently, more like metal and minerals than they used to

It takes me a hazy Sunday to realize what it is. Nothing has changed, it only went back to the way it was before she came. Her wardrobe is filled with mother's clothes, I look for traces of her but all I find is the numbing fear that maybe the time we spent together was nothing but a dream.

I browse through the pictures I took and there she is again, in my father's tuxedo shirt on my bed, naked in the early backlight from the balcony door and asleep in the park that summer morning. Her absence isn't just the void I've gotten used to, this time it actually and physically hurts.