Hold It Close.

For a long time, going through her things was almost mechanical. Clothes, aprons, jewelry... they spread before me. I was calloused, lost, and unable to let it matter. Now, I hoard it all. I would I could harvest it all back, hold it close, gather it near. I want to touch the things she touched. I want to smell, love, and fabricate them as part of me. I want every teapot, every ring. Now I can deal with it. Now I can face it. The bluntness of the first introductions to her things without her has worn away like leather on a sofa. There is now room to acknowledge. There is now room to feel. There is now room to reminisce. There is now room to love. There is now room to miss. So of the things that are still left, of the things that are still present, I will carefully touch. Of things that are still hers, I will endear.