He never invites people over anymore. The house hasn't seen a face besides his or mine in weeks.

Well-wishers mark their wary presence by presenting him with Tupperware containers of casserole, lasagna and soup.

They never linger for long, these folk. They knock on the mahogany door ever-so-softly, speaking in quiet tones so as not to frighten an injured animal.

They walk hesitantly, as though tragedy may befall them at every footfall in this house; as if misfortune were contagious.

They perch on the end of whichever seat they deem easiest to extract themselves from.

They are speechless yet insist on filling the silences with meaningless clutter.

I'm sorry

I'm here for you, anything you need

I can't imagine what you must be going through

Only through experiencing the rain can one arrive at the rainbow

So much rain. There has been so much rain lately. How can they speak of rainbows when my love has spent his weekend slumped over in the middle of our sodden garden, weeping until there can be no distinction made between rain and tear?

These ostentatious mourners, they have no inkling of what loss is.

But I do.

And yet...

He

Still

Doesn't

See

Me.