Added Loss

There is an added loss in not being able to talk about you with people who knew you when you were “well”. 

Who knew the breadth of your shoulders, the off-key hum you’d use to rock me to sleep, the way you’d love unconditionally and spontaneously. The things worn down and away over the years.

It’s its own loss to be alone in remembering. Like old age to early.

It’s another thing to lose, but one I lost well before you died, really.