letters to my husband when he is in the room but words are not enoughMature

I remember the first time you laughed in front of me. The light of it split my sternum apart and filled my ribs with this preciousness that I don’t think it’s ever felt since. I still think about the way your voice vibrates in my bones when I’m close enough, when our skin is touching, the way you echo through me like a thunderstorm or a moment that threatens to break me. 
I know at some point I will forget the sound of your laugh and the taste of your love and the sweetness with which you demonstrate it. I know at some point, my dreams will erase the realities we’ve stitched together and somewhere in all of it, we’ll both be different people.
But when I wake up and the bed is cold, it’s a cold kind of fear that spreads through my veins. Like, is this the day I wake up without you? Is this the day I remember where we scattered your ashes and where my last scream took place as I tried to drain you from my body with tears and liquor and more drugs than I could have ever named at any other point in my life? But then I hear you shuffling around in the bathroom, I hear the sound of your toothbrush hitting the glass jar. I hear the sound of your coffee percolating in the kitchen. Warmth rushes through me and I know I’m still safe, though there is never a moment I don’t think about how your absence will haunt me for the rest of my life.
I don’t know how people survive it - the separation from the love of their life. Maybe I am too soft for this life, too ready to fall apart when I think you’re not there. Maybe I am not built to survive after you depart this place. 
I just think you should know that in the morning, when you’re still in bed and it’s too early for the alarm to go off yet and we’re just two bodies beneath blankets in the dim, pre-dawn light, that there is nothing that makes me happier than that moment. When I can wrap my arm around your torso and kiss your shoulder blade and smell your skin and our laundry soap and feel your steady breath against my chest and remind myself that we are still mostly young and full of life and that we have a thousand more adventures to go on before I have to start reliving them in my head by myself.
I don’t want to relive this by myself. I only want to live this with you.

The End

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