Here’s the reason I can’t talk about love.

I’ve seen it up close in the way she listened patiently to my ramblings. I’ve felt it in her soft hands, in her unique and warm embrace. I’ve heard it in her musical voice, singing to me and laughing over the dramas we both watched. I’ve tasted it in the melting sweetness of her apple pie.
I’ve read it in the simple words she left me, in a few handwritten letters, and in a notebook of recipes.
This world and these loves will fade away, but don’t be sad, because our real home is heaven. She used to say. So, that’s where I’m at, trying to get used to being without her. Next time we bump into each other, beanies, let’s talk about the colour of fruit and silly drama clichés. It’s too hard for me to talk about love.

See you around. Love, February.



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