That the shirts he gave me no longer smell of him. It might have been more than a month since this tragedy, but I’ve not noticed till now.
I realize that I have forgotten what he smells like (when he’s clean, anyway). I can describe it with words: earthy, comfortable, of the sensational brownies he makes…of home.
But I cannot recall the actual thing.
Likewise I am beginning to forget what it’s like to kiss him, or to be held by him, or to fall asleep beside him on a sleepy Sunday afternoon.
Words are easy. Adjectives are no issue. But the thing itself…that’s something, I find, the mind cannot replicate at will.
Sadness is uncomfortable when it’s so sudden.