I love him.

I love him.

Right now, it seems incomprehensible that he won't just walk in. That he isn't just away somewhere, that he won't just turn up.

Oh, I know he won't, there is an ache deep inside me that says he won't. There is a hunger in my body for his touch, a need to hear his voice, the want to be kissed in the special way he kisses me, like I'm the only person in the world for that moment.

But I love him.

I may not be his next of kin, his legal wife, or any of that.
I may not have entitlement to even the flag off of his coffin nor yet to know where he is finally laid to rest.

But I love him.

And I look around, and I see him everywhere. His clothes are in my wardrobe and his shoes are by my bed and his cup is in my cupboard and the things he loves surround my son and I. We may not have the pomp and ceremony of saying that I am his widow, nor yet the pension that goes with it, but I know he loves me, and I know what he felt about the She-Ex, and how badly she needed to hang onto to that piece of paper to cling to him, and I am at peace with that. I truly hope she is at peace with what she has done to him, and to BG. I look around me, and I know he is here with me, and I know that he will be around for as long as he wants to be, and as long as I want him to be, and that eventually, we will be together, in whatever form that takes.

Because I love him.
Because he loves me.
Because he loves the children.

And because I love him, this hurts.

And that's ok.