I will miss you the most in the evening after the dishes are put away and I’ve retired to the bedroom knowing there’s nothing on TV to hold my interest, pull back the sheets and expect you to enter the room holding a glass of something cold, jiggling ice cubes until you set them down on your desk. I will miss your personal rituals, even the ones I dislike like your smoking cigarettes.I will miss your calling me “honey” and “babe,” and hearing the music of your voice. I will miss the way you talked to cats and dogs, how you made love to me like a wide-eyed boy startled between my legs. Now I turn toward the emptiness of my bed. Back in that place with you, I couldn’t be there for me.