Silent Witnesses

January 24, 2015

Most days, I'm fine. I'm functional. I wake up. Get myself dressed. Go to work and do my job. I shop for groceries. Prepare meals. Tidy my house. I even go for runs. I meet my friends for walks. I can talk about other things.

In fact, I barely speak of you at all.

But I can't lie.

There are moments when the tears overwhelm me. When I have to just put my pen down and let it wash over me. These are the moments when I feel like I will die if I don't reach out to you. When I can't think of anything but you.

Those moments, I find myself just holding on. I cling to the artifacts of our time together. The bottles of water you love so much, still residing in my refrigerator. The sad little used-up tube of toothpaste you picked up for me. The sweatshirt that I cannot bear to launder because it smells like your apartment.

To let them go is to let you go.
And I can't.

Since I do not speak aloud of the loss I feel, these items become my silent witnesses. They bear testimony to the love we shared. They are the witnesses who prove I didn't imagine it all.

The moments of distress pass - eventually.

When they do, I pick up my pen again, and I write it down.
To remember. To bear witness. To honor.

Because this testimony is not for nothing.

This is for everything.