I took his pillow from the left
side of the bed
for the first time
since he left.

My head was thick
with sickness
and I couldn’t smell him there.

The last time I had the flu
we ran out of tissues:
he took the soft shirt off his back
pushed it into my hands,
let me sneeze into the fabric.

I believe
that’s love.

But love like the body
gets sick;
and love unlike the body
dies quick.

 

Image: David Mao

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Melissa Wellham works in social media by day, and writes science-fiction by night. You can follow her on Twitter at @melissawellham