OK, mostly. Ticking over fine, closer, yes, and no, we can cut the grass, it’s alright.* The flowers are permanent now drooping petals replaced the next day, the kettle’s always on- we’ll have to find time to have a cuppa- and there’s a certain silence at night. There’s a voice missing, high pitched and incredulous, filling gaps, tidying shoes letters strewn on the floor for things that never mattered before, I suppose it’s just a waiting game. We’re different and torn and changing and sad and confused and lost and *OK, mostly. Ticking over fine, closer, yes, and no, we can get the shopping in. It’s alright.