Toothbrushes kissing

It’s the small things, that she misses.

The toothbrushes kissing,

on the windowsill.

The two pairs of keys,

dancing in the hall way.

The shoes fighting;

his trainers army straight,

her heels tumbling,

on their sides.

The sounds of two alarm clocks,

fighting for attention.

The phone chargers,

keeping each other company.

She misses listening to the conversations,

of his coffee machine,

and her kettle.

She misses the childish behaviour,

of the television,

she misses how it used to disturb her peace.

(Keep it down!)

Mud stains.

Tapping feet.

Overflowing cupboards.

Extra washing.

She misses it all.

Most days though, it’s not too bad,

She can ignore the fact that toothbrush is lonely,

ignores the fact that the keys,

are doing a solo performance.

Most days, she can put the heels up straight,

she can tell herself that she’s okay,

convince herself that she’s thankful.

for one alarm

for tea in peace,

for the absence of annoyances.

But then that day comes around,

and her house won’t let her have peace.

It fights against her.

The single set of keys,

jingles

louder

and

louder

and cries

for

it’s partner.

The single alarm,

wails.

The kettle grieves.

She hides under her duvet.

And tells herself to

Stop.

Stop thinking.

But the TV roars.

And the memories come back.

And it’s all kissing toothbrushes, dancing keys, footwear fighting, alarm clocks singing,

It’s ‘I love you’

It’s ‘I’ll see you later’

It’s a

knock on a door

It’s a

scene from a movie

Not real.

Not real.

 

It’s ‘I’m sorry for your loss’

Not real

Not real.

Too real. 

 

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