He didn’t say hello. He didn’t say goodbye. The thing that struck me hardest was that he used to. He used to bring me coffee in bed. He used to sing love songs to me in the shower. He used to kiss me, just because he could. I was his, and he was mine.

When it first started, I told myself he was having a bad day. A few days passed, then a week. It turned into months and then years. Slowly they rolled by, painfully.

Now it seems a dream that he used to.

His smile, still there, lingering in my memory, is the only remainder now.

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