The day that was supposed to go on forever

That day wasn't supposed to end. It should have gone on for ever. 

The day he smiled at her for the very last time. His beautiful smile. Dimples deepening and eyes slipping away into lines of sweet humour. How was she to know to that she would never see it again. If she had known any better, she would have lingered on for a while, taking in the details. Savour over every feature, and commit it to memory. She would not want to forget. But she did not because she did not know. And now, she’s so afraid that she might forget. He's gone now. Taking with him every thing that held their world together. 

He took the routine of them, wrapped it in bubble wrap and took them away. The good mornings, the hellos, the simply-calleds, the simple joy of watching TV, the soft comfort of predictability. He left behind the mugs that would never fill with tea for him, but took with him her privilege of fixing him a warm drink. The privilege of fulfilling a wish, a want, a small desire. "Make me some tea?" "Bring me my towel." "Come a little closer." or even "Please stop annoying me." All of them, withdrawn from her. On that day that should have gone on forever. The day before he left. The day he would look at her for the very last time. 

He folded her dreams into neat piles and tucked them away into suitcases. He folded his warmth, his smell, his weight next to her, his snoring, his tosses and turns, him embraces - everything that contoured and shaped her sleep and took it with him. And now she can't sleep. She can't sleep without her dreams. She’s afraid without them. She’s afraid without him. Her dream that was hers to have and to hold. Her dream that was custodian to every other dream she had. 

He took her laughter and his. Laid bare the shelves and emptied the containers. She would never hear him laugh again, and that knowledge estranged her from hers. They were a pair - one shoe without the other, music without the lyrics, hers without his. Gaps of her that contained him. Gaps of her that he poured himself into. Gaps of her that would never hold him again. He was the ebb to her flow. The rise to her fall. The light to her dark. And now she will be incomplete. He took with him everything that mattered. 

That day that should have lasted forever, so pitiful in its mundanity. So painfully ordinary, that she thought she could turn her back. That she took her eyes off him, letting him out of her sight. That she allowed the air he breathed to be wasted. That she didn't hold him close, that she didn't tuck it away in memory boxes the warmth of his skin, the perfectness of his kiss, the rough of his stubble. That she thought she could work a little late. That she thought she was allowed the the luxury of taking him for granted; that she could fight with him if she deemed it fit; that she could plan next week, next month, next year. Make doctor's appointments for him, plan a party or surprise him on his birthday. And now, he's gone. Taking everything that mattered. Except that one thing. His love. He didn't take that away and nothing will. In it, she finds her courage, her reason to go on, her strength. She will always have it - just like she did before the day that was supposed to go on forever. 

**I happened to photograph my dad reading the newspaper. An everyday thing that hasn’t happened in eight years. An everyday thing that will never be. Again.