Missing.

I miss the way I had to angle my body to get up the drive, dragging the wheels-bin behind me. The one with the slit in the side, that I knew needed replacing, but hadn’t got around to.

I miss the way I would pile up washing on top of the dryer, in the kitchen, and use it as some sort of make-shift open wardrobe because I was busy (and lazy).

I miss the way my beautiful cat would bound towards me when I opened the door and rub herself around my legs while I peed in the downstairs toilet. I’d tell her ‘I know, I know’ affectionately and feed her the ‘Whiskas’ from the shelf.

I miss the way the kettle sounded when the house was empty, and the way the traffic hummed by on the roundabout by my front window.

I miss the way the boiler kicked down when it was coming on, and the relief I’d feel that I had enough pre-paid for it to be on, that I’d soon be warm.

I miss the way the bathroom light didn’t work, and I had to use stick-pad lights on the walls in my rusted council-bath as I got a shower, and I miss the variable water pressure.

I miss the dusty smell of my cupboards and the way my carpet looked so clean when I hoovered it for the first time in a week, sometimes two. The red looked so bright, rich.

I miss standing in the kitchen, doing my pots, and wondering, lamenting. I miss the flights my thoughts took, all the places and faces, when I dared to dream.

I miss the rush of excitement before he would arrive. I miss the way I would scurry around tidying and pick out an outfit. The way I would feel light, and beautiful, ready to love and be loved.

I miss my mum. i miss my brother. I miss my dad. I miss my grandparents, and my friends.

I miss my freedom, my independence. I miss the ability to share meaningful moments with people, with people who love me and once I get it back.. I don’t think I could ever give it up again.

I miss my life.

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