The Wall

I think part of why this is so lonely is that nobody else misses her the way I miss her. People loved her. People remember her. People feel the absence. I know that. But I’m the one missing the private architecture of us. The stupid jokes. The glances. The fight patterns. The domestic shorthand. The body memory. The weird little routines. The exact version of home that only existed between two people over twenty years. That’s unshareable grief. You can get support around it. You can be surrounded by caring people. You can even be deeply understood in parts. But the actual object of loss is still uniquely shaped. And because of that, even in community, some portion of this stays solitary.