I still miss the ordinary witness of a shared life

Dear Delyara, The thing I miss most is not always romance. It’s witness. Someone who was there for the boring middle. The errands, the tiredness, the meals, the weather, the little complaints, the small notices of the day. Someone whose life brushed mine in all the ordinary ways that become invisible until they are gone. I think that kind of absence stays quiet because it sounds too plain to be dramatic. But the body feels it deeply. Some grief is made of routine. This is that kind.