And in a few days, when it’s Sunday, I’ll roll out of bed and find her in the kitchen making waffles with berries and whipped cream. I’ll hear that sunny voice chirp “Good morning!” to me while I’m still shaking off the fog of sleep, and I’ll grunt back in response, remember to smile at her, offer to help mix the batter.
Bargaining with the Universe to make the things that happened miraculously reverse or go away. The magical thinking of loss... but also the muscle memory of loss. The repeated experiencing of it when your heart, soul and body are so used to the mundane things you do next to and with that person every day to walk into that room or expect that daily experience & then have to remember it, all over again.
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