It started when my boss asked for a strong black coffee. My mind catapulted to those cool Sunday mornings when I’d wake you up with a freshly made cup. The house would be tinged in the pale yellow of the early spring sun, and you’d smile at me, eyes still closed, as soon as the aroma of coffee roused you from sleep.
At lunch, it was a dress that did it. Dark blue and covered in little white spots, worn by the woman who stood in front of me in the queue at the supermarket. You had a dress just like it. At least, I think you did; it looked like something you would wear. But I suppose I never paid enough attention. Your wardrobe now is a hazy memory – a blur of blues and whites and greys and every now and again, when I insisted it suited you, a splash of red.
As I walked out of the office in the evening I was taken back to you again by the orange glow of the sunset. You always scoffed at those who told you of the beauty of a golden evening sky. To you, it wasn’t anything to smile about. It was the marker of another day coming to an end, gone too fast. Another grain of sand slipping through the narrowest point of the hourglass, with who knows how many others, or how few, following it.
A new cookie shop has opened up on the high street and the aroma from its ovens filled the air and put you in my head once more. Your favourite indulgence – still warm, gooey in the middle, crammed with an unreasonably high ratio of chocolate chips. You had them every day during our last two weeks together, just in case it was the last thing your sweet tooth ever got to taste.
And now I’m home and you’re everywhere. But that’s nothing new. You’ve never left our house.
Night after night I come home and fill my head with you. I see you on the hooks in the hallway where your coats would hang. In the artwork hung above the fireplace which you picked out. On the bookshelves where you favourite horror stories used to reside. In the armchair where you fell asleep for the last time.
I’m used to seeing you in the night, but in the day, I’ve trained you to stay away. I’ve pushed you against the very back walls of my mind so that you can’t fiddle with the taps in my brain which set the tears running.
Today, for some reason, you were everywhere. You were always one for impromptu visits, but I’d prefer it if we stuck to our routine. At night, you are here in my mind and I can give you all the attention you could ever need. But in the day, I need to be alone.
I write one new story each week inspired by a random song from my Spotify library. This week it was Laura Marling’s Night After Night.
Want to join in? Open your music-player of choice, hit shuffle, and write a story about the first song that plays (or the first song that inspires you to write). Then tell me about it, ‘cos you bet I wanna read what you came up with.Follow Ellie Scott on WordPress.com