This month has been one of unknown days and lost dates, school holiday days merging together until, before I know it, I’m facing the end of April without even realising it.
That also means my wedding anniversary has arrived. I know it happened in the spring, as the day was sunny and warm, that feeling of the possibility of summer stretching ahead us. Neither of us can ever remember the exact date we got married without looking back at timestamps on photographs or searching through emails. And that’s fine by me. We still manage to recall the important stuff; his penicillin allergy, love of Mike Nelson and hatred of aubergine are etched on my memory. He remembers my favourite scents, exactly how I like to arrange a baked potato, beans and cheese, and knows when my grief anniversaries are approaching before I do. I suppose we could celebrate our anniversary and all the other stuff,
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