I’d, gotten used to telling you about the goings-on of my day, although, you’re no longer here with me…
It’d become, somewhat, ritualistic, I guess, for me, to come home every evening, and start telling you about what happened during the day, the things I’d come across, the things that you’d thought funny, or interesting to know.
not my photograph.
Then, as I fluffed up my pillows, readied myself for bed, I’d gotten reminded, that, you are, no longer here with me anymore, that you’d been, taken from me, not so very long ago, and, I’d be, overcome, with grief again.
Gotten used to telling you about the goings-on of my day, as if, you’re, still here, but you’re not, you’d been, long gone, since a long, long, long time ago, and, I know I should be moving on with the rest of my life, but, I can’t stop grieving for you.
not my comic.
Gotten used to telling you about the goings-on of my day, and these days, I’m, missing you, less and less, and, I reckon, that soon enough, you won’t even, cross my mind again, but I’m still waiting……