I still miss the ordinary witness of another person

Dear Delyara, Sometimes grief arrives through tiny things. Making tea and no one else being in the room. Coming home and no one else’s rhythm existing in the evening. A practical problem being only mine to notice. The absence of another ordinary witness to the day. That’s what I still miss sometimes. Not the dramatic story. The witness. The quiet confirmation of another life folded around yours in the daily, forgettable ways that only become visible after they’re gone.