The Couch

The couch...the couch has become the place she spends most of her days, It pulls her to it.  She sits there for hours upon hours, sometimes with her phone glued to her hand most times with George & Nicky surrounding her, anything to try and fill the emptiness but it's there, it's always there since he is gone. She feels it every second of every day.

She feels alone, even with the cats. She stares at the pictures surrounding his urn in disbelief that he is gone. She doesn't want to believe it, the stories of where he is swirl around her head so she doesn't have to feel the pain of him being gone.

It's easier for her to pretend he is still here than to feel the pain, feel the heartache wanting to throw up because he is gone and she wasn't able to save him.

She tries to get up and "keep busy" but that doesn't work. Her body hurts, every fiber, every muscle is sore. Her body feels tired deep into her core. Her legs feel like lead with each step she takes so she sits on the couch. Sleep eludes her, she tosses and turns all night long, praying he comes to her dreams, praying just to see his face until finally she just gets up.

Tears come and go, sadness envelopes her like a weighed blanket, she can't move. Her heart breaks a tiny bit more with each breathe as she waits for the tears to subside sitting on the couch.

She sits on the couch remembering what it was to look over and she him already looking at her. She asks him "What?" And he just smiles saying "What I can't look at my beautiful wife". She wishes she could hear that now while her heart breaks a tiny bit more.

She sits for hours on the couch, she wants to be close to the place his soul was last, where his body was for the last time so she doesn't move from his spot, the place where she found him, the couch.

She craves to feel him, to hear him, to talk to him one last time to see if he is ok.

She is alone, empty...cold on the couch.