Outside in February’s cold,
getting a breath of fresh air,
I am grateful for the wool socks
that keep my feet warm inside my slippers.

I hope he is still wearing the wool socks I bought him.
His feet were always so cold.
He wouldn’t have spent so much on socks before.
Didn’t know the extra dollars could make him warm.
So much love in a couple of socks.
If she asked where he got them
what would he say?

Another night, I blush with pride remembering-
he once thought enough of me that he bought me this hat –
a green wool cloche, at Everything Natural.
Once, I took a picture of me with the dog, and I’m wearing it.
I texted it to him.

I wonder why the day he bought the hat is so fuzzy.
How do I know where the hat came from
but the rest of that day is a blur?
Living in the moment leads to forgetfulness.
Always letting everything go …
I hope I wrote about it in a journal somewhere.
Give myself a smile if I find it someday.
I was always more inclined to write about bad days,
because I needed the writing on those days,
to support.
The good days, we think we’ll never forget.
But we do.

He is in the process of forgetting me.
I am afraid of becoming invisible.

I remove my wool socks as I climb into bed.
Grateful for the day I loved myself enough
to buy a weighted blanket.
The closest simulation to the feeling of being held,
I read in some article about coping with isolation
during pandemic quarantine.

-ag, feb 2021