[ WP ] And then one day.. there was a hole there ...

In retrospect it happened fast. Do n't all things? Our memories compressed into phantom impulses that drift on the fickle tides of feeling. And they change, too, over time, these memories. Footprints in a snowstorm. 
 
 He left on a Saturday in autumn. I remember it well and, much to my continued consternation, this memory wo n't fade. Not yet, I suppose. We'd been arguing for a few months. About what I ca n't remember now but it seemed then that the argument should have been over before it started. One of those marriage things, I guess. The nitpickery that so often accompanies living with another. The way cute idiosyncrasies can turn to screeching annoyances given enough time. 
 
 The muted sound of rain woke me. The occasional rumble of thunder. The strobe light pulses of lightning in the gray of dawn. His side of the bed was empty, the sheets rumpled from his sleep, a soft depression in the pillow where his head had so recently been. 
 
 I could smell coffee and I levered myself from bed. I pulled on my robe, the one his mother had given me a few Christmases before, and went downstairs. In the kitchen in front of the coffee pot was a mug with a spoon next to it placed on a folded paper towel. he always used to do that for me. Next to the mug was a note. 
 
 `` I ca n't do this anymore'' it said. `` I'm sorry'' 
 
 And that was that. He never came home and we still have n't spoken. His mother says she has n't heard from him either and I believe her. I've been left with the ghost of him. a closet full of clothes that hold his fragrance. A dog that waits by the door every day for him to come home from work. 
 
 There's a hole in my life now that I fear wo n't be filled. Ca n't be filled. 
 

