I still miss the handover at the end of the day

Dear Delyara, Not the dramatic version of being loved. The ordinary version of not carrying the whole day alone. I miss coming home to someone who already knew enough of the life to receive the leftovers. The annoying email, the silly story from the child, the mood in the house, the thing that cost too much, the way I sounded when I was too tired to explain properly. I miss not having to build the whole bridge from the beginning every time I wanted company with my own life. That handover matters more to me than I knew while I had it. Its absence is one of the quietest and deepest losses.