It wasn’t that ashes were ashes and dust went into dust.
The ashes were laid on top of the ashes and the dust was mounded on top of the dust and sat as a mountain in my every room.
Everywhere I went you followed me like a pesky pet that cuts you as it nuzzles your tummy with its claws, your departed love stings.
You are unavoidable. You are everywhere, you hide in cupboards and manage to be lying around in photographs on mantelpieces when I least expect, always ready to jump in on me when I am going to sleep, why do you disturb my dreams, can't you leave me alone at night? I think you’ve overstayed your welcome, you’re like a rude guest that wont leave when you have been politely asked to. Can’t you get off the premises? Why won’t you leave? But still your mountain of ash hangs around lingering in my eyes. I love you but your not around to be loved. That was the jarring paradox that happened between breath and the cessation of breath. When your skin changed colour and your love expired.
Your unavoidable I know. I could bury or burn all the things that are mementos of you but the mementos are meaningless without that one memento I cannot discard of that is the one I have in my mind. I can feel myself becoming more like you, is that genetics or just sentimentality? I even smell like you. You with your body and your smile and your thoughts and your love and your annoying habits are all gone. I don’t even have the luxury of having you here to hate you. Now you’re inside me but I have to put you on the backburner, you’re missing somewhere upstairs in the loft rather than down in the basement for the time being. Sorry but that’s where you have to stay along with the mountain of ash and the feelings they ache of.
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