Sorrow

 Despite my resolve to go forward

to carry him in my heart -

him, and all those magical glorious years

despite my decision to choose love and fight for my own wellness

there are always the afternoons

in this case drizzly/grey and otherworldly

but could equally be sunny, bright and cheerful

where I have to look through his pictures

the file called Danny (and all the hundreds and hundreds of files containing him, the pics that didn't make it into Danny)

the folder called Holy

the one called The Squint

I look and look, to remember the shape of him - not that I need to

his funny sit, his freckled lip, the bump on his nose, is all imprinted on me better than I know myself

but I look anyway, to see

if some angle shows a sadness I might have missed

or an expression not often shown

I look and look, through 19 folders each month, 19 or 20 or maybe more

since 2006, November (Danny One)

and there is always that one

that blessed, terrible one

that shows his full sweetness, that seems to encapsulate

all that I loved in him, in just the one half smile, head carriage - there it is

my love, my joy

and all I've lost is a 30 story building collapsing on my heart

again