The pink jasmine is in bloom. The first sign of spring – It has always made me smile. I pick clusters for the house to cheer it up. The heady, cloying scent is too much. It makes me cry. The sun through the window is too bright. The house is sad. We are all in mourning.
Insidious grief has settled in beside me. He skulks in my shadow, just out of my sight and grasp, and I feel his presence and catch his movements from the corner of my eye. He sits across from me at my kitchen table, robbing me of my hunger. He lies beside me in my bed, loosely draping his arm across my waist and whispering in my ear until well past 2 a.m. I cannot sleep. He pokes at me as I attempt to read the book opened in my lap and waits patiently for me while I distractedly stare at the TV screen. He interrupts when I try to speak, leaving choking words within my throat. He is my passenger on my morning commute and sits across my desk throughout the day, waiting for me to wrap up work so he can have me to himself again.
Jealous and possessive and relentless grief.