i know she's gone—so quick!—but i can't believe she's not here. i keep my bedside table clear. i do not put my water glass there. i look to see where she sleeping when i come back to bed in the dark and gently climb in. i see the dark wrinkles where she last lay. i turn careful corners watching for her surprise. i expect her yell when i come through the hall. i imagine her smiling inward. i keep my bedside table clear, knowing.