He misses her.
He misses basking in the glow of her sunshine.
He misses her spontaneous laughter.
He misses listening to her stories,
she had so many stories.
He misses her humming.
It would waft around him like a warm spring breeze,
soothing his spirit,
and making him sigh.
He misses her conspiratorial whispers of gossip,
always accompanied by the gentle roll of her eyes.
He holds the memories in his bag,
the one he carries with him everywhere,
though like him,
it is battered and stained.
Unzipping it when he returns home,
he sits at the kitchen table,
watching them escape,
one by one,
landing in front of him.
He misses her every moment of every day,
but mostly,
when she’s standing nearby,
laughing with another,
and turns to look at him,
with empty eyes.
He knows there not be a second chance.
She may forgive him,
perhaps she already has,
but there will not be a second chance,
not with her,
not ever.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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