Familiarity

I realise my lifestyle hasn't changed that much. We had a lifestyle that suited us both — two writers in the same house. Of course, when we were younger we did more gadding about, and also ran more courses: Reiki, Tarot, Qabala, and writing workshops. As we got older we quietened down a bit, but only in the last three years really, as he became sicker. However, even in the early years, we spent a lot of time separately writing.

Now when I work at my computer, I still fall into a habitual mind set in which he too is sitting at his computer in another room — or perhaps lying in bed, reading or napping or waiting for me to join him. So the things I think about, I imagine telling him a little later. 

This no longer distresses me as it did at first. It has become, in a way, quite comforting. I guess I have become used to it, and while I really know all the time, underneath, that it is an illusion, still it is a pleasant illusion. I allow myself to bask a little while in the familiar warmth of his presence, glad I can still recall and recreate how that feels.