Stains
Some days I wake up and then I realize that you are not here. Yesterday's grief is still lying on my bed, I wish I could tell it to leave, but I don't. I get up and then go to the kitchen to make coffee. There is this fading mark on the kitchen counter, near the gas stove, that still reminds me of how you never used to use coasters and left the round ridge of coffee cup everywhere, especially on the table in front of the couch. I know I can't make the plants stay alive, yet somehow they seem to be thriving, your favourite plant in that yellow pot, is still in the corner, I'm taking good care of her not because I care about you, but somehow I have grown to care for her. In my bookshelves there are empty spaces where your books used to be, I have been meaning to fill them up, at least I still have my record collection. I guess when we separate our lives, our things get separated too. I know I returned the musical Carvaan box that you had gifted me, I miss hearing the rand...