I try not to think, not to remember. Sometimes it works.

Today it doesn't. There's something in the air that reminds me of you: a smell I can't place. The wind whispers your name. The way the leaves rustle, and the trees gently sway to a rhythm not their own...

And when I can fight it no more, I go to the kitchen and pull your mug from the back of the cupboard. When it's full of freshly boiled tea - milk and two sugars, just the way you liked it - only then will I give in and think of you...