Even the knock at the door sounded familiar. Although I don’t remember how long its been since he knocked at my door. I only remember the sound of him walking in, opening the door without reservation because he belonged in this home.
His face was beautifully familiar. I’m not sure if he noticed the welcome in my smile. It’s been about four months since I saw him. I was counting the time on my fingers only today, as I walked to collect the girls from school. I want to say it’s a coincidence that I was thinking of him on the day he turned up at my door. But I think about him everyday, more or less. So much so, I don’t really notice anymore. He’s like a ghost now, settled in my everyday thoughts.
She wrapped her arms and legs around him as he went to leave, her school cardigan bunched up around her shoulders. She always clung to him like that. At the beginning, I worried it would frighten him away; too much love from such a small and intense little girl. Later, I knew it made him feel wanted and happy. Today, I was glad for the distraction, prying her fingers from around his calf as he walked backwards out of the door. Probably for the last time.
The last few days have been painfully punctuated by a deep craving for
his arms around me; his warm body, solid, against mine. I imagine dissolving into his arms, my limbs soft with a relief that only he can provide. I remembered this as he cycled away into the frosted February evening. A bag on his back stuffed full of the little pieces of him that, until today, were left littered around my home.
All that’s left to do now is close the door behind him, against the cold air blowing into my house.