He once told me God is in the detail, so let's start something new again, and go back to what we know. I am looking for a moment here. One moment to start and stop at, no more than that today. At once my mind goes back and forth to him as though he lives in here with me now.
It is one of many Saturdays gone and many to come, as I lie in his clothes, in his bed, filling both with my tired limbs. I listen for him moving in the kitchen making lunch and a mug of black tea to bring to me. My eyes wander to the curtains, alight with the sun's gold. I stare at the familiarity of that midday light and wonder how it found me here, in his clothes, in his bed. It feels like I have woken up seven hours into a soft Sunday morning, I tell myself, and Sunday morning has always been what home is to me.
The murmur of the cricket commentary he's playing aloud, the clink of metal against china, drawers shutting, feet stepping, and this warm silence of a golden not-Sunday-morning light that drifts to the island I have made of his creaking bed. One year has enveloped us in the space of a stretching and yawning and smiling minute- barely enough time it seems, and yet I feel I am finally moving home.
Some overshadowing fear of failure, or rather of discovering an innate inadequacy, no longer follows my thoughts or stalks my hands as I now type. Fear and I are slowly and painfully parting ways and I am going to see my love on Saturday.
s