I only missed you once, when the kettle boiled and I burned my finger in the steam, you weren’t there to get an ice cube or pour my cup of tea. The empty space is crowded. It’s a lie I tell myself, not in the dead of night, but in the bright white glare of every day since you left. Your empty shoes sit by the back door waiting for the snugness of your toes. I’ve come to realize you walk a trail now I might never find. The empty space is crowded. When I walk the back garden where … Continue reading NaPoWriMo 11/30: Fingers & Toes