The Flotsam and The Jetsam - No Idea.

The old man still remembers.

Each morning, somewhere between opening eyes and filling the kettle in the kitchen he thinks of her, in hers.

Is she drinking tea too?

An hour later he is in his car, driving to work and he wonders if she is driving too.

Along a frosty lane, through rain or under the trees amongst the October shafts of autumn sunshine.

What is she listening to?

Radio?

Or CD?

Does she sing along?

Work stops him thinking until lunch when he looks out the window.

The view is clear, but he doesn’t see the blue sky beyond. Instead he imagines her sky.

Is it grey?

Is it snowing?

He has no idea.

Is she sitting at home at her desk? Is she alone?

Is she out and about?

He has no idea.

He works again, his brain is dull from repetition and then he drives back, tired, sleepily.

He tries to understand what it would be like to see her sleeping.

And he tries to understand why he still wants to understand.

Surely it has been long enough?

Shouldn’t the heart be still by now?

Why does his pulse beat differently when he looks at the faded photo she gave him?

He has no idea.

He cooks an evening meal.

And sees her cooking hers.

He puts on his pyjamas.

She puts on hers.

He sleeps.

His dreams he can’t control.

flotsam and jetsam explained here