Knock knock

Her room has been left untouched.

Leaving me feeling a bit touched at times.

We are opposite poles. Blurry reflections. What was, what is. Him in between. Past, present. Now, though only barely.

Her colours taint my life. Her colours drain mine in fact.

Yet I remain. Her shadow covering mine.

She is more fully here now, than she ever was at any time in her life, at any time in their marriage. It is as if she has been highlighted. Neon blinking lights. Dead on arrival. Arrival on dead. The missing are often more presently present than those presently so. Why is that? Step outside to truly reach inside?

I met him just 8 weeks after his wife passed over. It is amazing how you can meet someone who is not really there, and yet so clearly see them.

By that time he had made their room into a shrine and moved into the guestroom.

He was prepared to be just that from then on in: a guest in his own life.

Never completely, fully present. Always on his way somewhere else. So as not to face what is here, what is lacking here. Escaping what is not. Knock knock.

Knock knock

He is touched, you see. He walks around untouched by her. Life has taken her from him and life now insists on eroding what is left of her. Don’t tell him, he has not noticed yet. I fear he will be completely gone when he realizes that she is so.

As a guest he politely does not enter where he feels unwanted. So he does not see.

I on the other hand am free to move around as I liked and I often entered her shrine when he is not about. Knock knock, not.

I can see how life is covering what is left of her in dust.

Making her shadow appear even more real, it is just an illusion. Knock knock, not.

Knock knock

On really hot days it melts away her colours as well.

Life trickles drops of colours all about. There are creams and lipsticks in the shrine, that now are just a puddle of all she was painted out to be. Life will do that. We forget. When we desperately hold on, It gets sticky. How could he not see this? Her colours fading. Melting away. Mine getting stronger? Clearly, in fact. I feel untouched.

When life says ‘stop’, you stop. When life says ‘please live’ you should listen. Please listen, just a touch. So I lift her half melted gloss. I’m covered in it, knock knock.

I believe in second chances, I do. Opening doors. Holding them open.

I believe in holding on to those who don’t. Reflecting it back to them. No matter how blurry or melted away it all seems at first. Knock knock.

I believe in holding presently, present, clear reflections, I do.

It will take time, yet there is enough of that.

I’m feeling a bit touched you see. Knock knock.