Cooking tonight, I spilled a bit of food on the floor – just a small bit of pasta.
I couldn’t help it. I looked around briefly before I caught myself, then slowly leaned down and picked it up myself, and threw it in the trash.
Sometimes, I used to spill it on purpose, but
she isn’t here for those random treats anymore, waiting so patiently just outside the kitchen.
Looking at me, then the food on the floor – then me again.
Waiting. She was so good.
I haven’t picked up food off the floor in over five years. I haven’t neeeded to –
until just a couple of months ago.
Still, everytime, I turn and look.
I turn and look, and she is not there anymore.