Sometimes, the few times I go outside anymore, I look across the field. Far off into the distance, at the wood’s edge I see a slender light figure that does not blend in with the rest of its surroundings. Is it you Kaitlyn, looking out to me, seeing me in my despair, or perhaps letting me know you’re still here? Of course not, it’s just something I want to see and hope to see. It’s just a tall tree stump.
As I woke up this morning thinking of your small delicate hands, was it that you were holding my hand in yours just before I woke? Of course not, I was just thinking of all the many special parts of you.
As I stood holding your pocketbook that you always carried with you, close to me and swearing that I could feel your warmth and arms around me, smelling your scent, could it have been you trying to comfort me in my loss for you? Or was it just because I wanted to feel it?
As I look to my right into the living room where your couch now resides, I can sometimes see you there, just as I have many times, studying at your computer. Are you really there? Of course not, it is my memory.
As I pet your cat Gatito, I feel he is dissatisfied because I don’t have your touch, your scent, your essence, nothing that will satisfy him because he misses you. This my imagination?
Or is it?