Our friends envied how much in love we were, how devoted and attentive to the littlest things. You held my hand, stroked my cheek, even in company. When people stopped me in the street to say sorry, it was apparent.
You lavished me with gifts, each chosen with precise care and so perfect for me. My favourite chocolates, music I adored and an easel so I could take up painting. When those flowers came for me by mistake, it was plain.
As you were promoted and we moved to a new life in another city, you made sure I felt safe and secure. We met at lunch and you stole quick mobile calls when you could sneak away. When you worked late so many nights, it was obvious.
We shared special times often. Remember that break in Paris just because we had been together eleven months? And the champagne you bought me for finishing Ulysses? When you forgot my birthday, you confirmed it for me.
You became absent even when you were there and wouldn’t talk. I felt lonely at home, more so when you were with me. When you wouldn't catch my eye, you made it unambiguous.
We made such plans, entwining our futures together even following silly family traditions from both sides. We would call our son Wilf, just like your grandfather. When she wore your mother's ring, things were unmistakable.