Month Of Memories #10

Now for the reality, what I'm like now that he's gone.
I sleep with a line of three pillows parallel to my body so if I roll over, I can feel the rough outline of him next to me. I sleep with a pillow under my cheek too, in the same place that his chest used to sit for me to sleep on.
I talk to him. And although that will sound strange to all of you, and especially to the people who are near me when I do it, I can really feel his presence. I never get a reply when I ask questions and for advice, but I always feel like he's listening somewhere and screaming out the answers. I'm just too far away to hear them.
Whenever I do anything trivial or boring, I imagine he's alongside me doing it too. Like, when I was revising for my exams, I'd imagine he was alongside me doing the same, and laughing at me when I began to chew my lips in deep concentration.
Sometimes, shortly after he died, I'd go downstairs and make my green tea, and one for him too. These things all sound stupid, and pretty obvious that I shouldn't, but I do. It's second instinct now.
I still gaze longingly at photos of him, and listen to and watch his favourite movies, tv shows and music.
I also still slip on the engagement ring he gave me whenever I really miss him. It hasn't been taken off once this week.
The worst thing I do is call his phone to listen to his answer phone, and I still text him. I tell him about my day and about what's happening in my life. I feel closer to him that way, and almost as if he's reading them all, despite the fact that I still have his phone. If anyone wants to write a book about me in the future, his inbox is the prime place to go for all the details of this year.