Today I tripped on the footpath and stumbled, hit my knee against the hard gravel. But the first word out of my mouth wasn’t ‘goddammit’ or some such, I still called for you. As the pain passed through my knee, my friend said I repeated it again and again, like a small child hurt on the playground. See, you still have a hold on me, Always will.

Whether I turn 40 or 80. But I had to be strong when I got home. I, just like you had, responsibilities. The bruised knee would have to wait. There is so much of you in me now. Your anxiety, your patience. Your gestures and your emotions. The similarities and the differences.

That I had ignored when you were around. Time is the healer some say. Maybe, I don’t want to be healed. The ache is better than the void in my life since you gone.

Strange, some people love the month of February, I can’t wrap my cold heart around it. For love in all its glory can’t bring you back. For love in all its grandeur couldn’t stop death.

Khushnuma, 2017.


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