Two desks

Two desks, fronts pressed against the other, facing each other, sitting in a showroom. I had to stop. Suddenly I saw you at your desks, busy working, on the phones, chattering back and forth to each other. Just as quickly, I began to tear up.
I tried to walk by the pair, but found myself back stepping. I called out to Bob, as I pointed to the desks, "What does that remind you of?" Without hesitation he saw it too, "Your parents."

Enough said. I miss you, again and again. You pop up every day in one form or another. Sometimes I will soak in the pain, sometimes I have to brush it away. Somehow when I hurt, it is almost as if you are with me, so I prefer to dwell in the suffering. It reminds me of you, even though it revives so much agony.

At least now I always end my moments with the comforting thought that you are together again. Just like the desks, at the other side of the mirror.