On Our 175th Month

I accidently hurt the side of my left knee tonight. It's something that you can easily call a dismissible injury. But in my emotional state, I cried my heart out because had you been alive, you would've rushed to my side to ask what happened and to take care of my (almost nonexistent) wounds.

You would have gently reminded me to be careful next time and you probably would have kissed my forehead to let me know I'll live.

I miss your gentle, caring ways. Today should have been our 175th month together. It's a good round number. You would have been pleased.

I went to the mall today with ate and her family and we sort of went out for you. We had your favorite DQ moolatte, ordered your favorite kani and mango salad, went to a book sale to look at new and old titles, and we all got a massage from those automatic massage chairs.

It felt like a date with you, except you weren't there.

If you were in my body you would've been amazed at how alone I felt despite being surrounded by so many people.

The Uber ride home felt like one of those nights where we would quietly drive home in peace. We never had to talk in the car. We enjoyed the silence together. You would always, always touch my hand whenever you had the chance. I would always look at your face as the street lights broke through your hair. I would sigh and wonder what good I did to be sitting there with you.

Our love lived in the most mundane tasks at home; from me opening the gate so you can park, to working out who carries what from the car to the house, to making two cups of coffee, and charging the other person's almost dead phone so we can play some stupid games before we call it a night, every night.

175 months of me loving you and I still can't believe that I'm talking about you and to you in the past tense.

Could've, should've, would've.

You should have been and you should still be my future, but you' re gone.

I can pretend all I want that you're still here, that you're coming back. But I can't deny the taste of my tears, and I can still feel my nonexistent wounds from tonight left untouched.

I can never deny that I went alone to the mall, despite being with family. I can't deny that you weren't the person driving the car that took us home.

I went to my room where your urn quietly waited. I can feel you, but you're not there.

Midnight struck, and a reminder showed up on your phone.

Hapimon!

That's how we chose to greet each other every 30th of the month (Hapimon = HAPpy + MONthsary). A stupid tradition that we have faithfully kept alive all throughout our relationship.

I stared at the screen, then burst into tears. The reminder was set to repeat monthly--indefinitely.

I am so, so tired I can't believe how I survived the last 42 days.

I.JUST.WANT.YOU.TO.COME.HOME.PLEASE.

Please tell me this is just a bad dream. Please let me wake up beside you. Please take away this pain. Please just come back.

Today means nothing to me. Nothing means anything to me because you're not here.

Come back.

Remind me how it feels to be happy again.