Never?

Each moment is one more moment where you are formless, soundless, heartless.

In the morning, I prepare my coffee and sit down to write without waiting for you to wake. I don't look for your naked body to shuffle its way to the bathroom and then to the kitchen to drink your Gelatin drink.

I don't sit and watch you scribble away in your journal, wondering what insight or fear you will want to tell me about later.

As I head off to Graffiti to write, I don't coordinate my time with you -- us deciding when to go to Whole Foods for lunch and to pick up flank steak and cauliflower for dinner.

As the sun sets, we are not making our way to the ocean for a quick dip, so the cool, salt water can work its magic on our sore muscles and inflamed joints.

I've stopped working crossword puzzles at any time of the day.

You are not texting me. I am not calling you. It's like we never existed.

Copyright by Rachel Drews, 2013. All rights reserved. Any excerpts reproduced from this article should include links to the original.