I walk through The Bay like I'm walking through your closet. I let my fingers brush through racks of clothes and you are with me, as you were so many times in life. As I wander the aisles of the store, I wander the aisles of my memories. Around every corner is a different moment, a different decade. My dangling fingers are reaching to feel the stiff leather of your wheelchair, the open weave of your sweater, the softness of your hair - anything, anything.
But there are only hanging sleeves and empty dresses here for me now.
I curl into these memories like a child curling into your lap. It is bittersweet, this place that makes it all feel so close and yet so far, this thin space between the dimensions that separate us now. I want to stay here forever, comforted by memories, walking with your ghost.
The last thing we bought together hangs in my closet. I will probably never wear it.