I Opened My Late Wife’s Forbidden Drawer—and Found a Key She Hid

into it. Reality is the indentation of her head on the pillow. Reality is the faint smear of lotion on the lamp switch because she always turned it off with the back of her knuckle. Reality is the way my ribs feel too wide now, like my heart is trying to escape through the gaps.

At 2:17 a.m., I sit up like someone called my name.

No sound. No ghost. continue reading …