It Was You For Me

1

She's not my dog.

Bella's your dog. But she's circling around my feet as I write this, like she did when you were here. When you'd sit at this desk. Not the old chipped wooden one on the left side of your room, with notes and books and art and blank papers in a scattered mess. But the white metallic one, with markers and pen doodled onto it's edges, and post-its hanging off it's left side. A stack of your half full notebooks arranged neatly to the right, by your tin of pencils and crayon.

This is where you always were when you were in your room, with Bella between your feet, sniffing at your ankles. She shouldn't do the same for me, I think. That was your thing with her. And I wouldn't want to take that away from the both of you.

But I like that she's not sulking so much anymore. On your rag by the bathroom door. Searching for your sent.

I know why your mum let's her be up here. It really does smell like you.

As she settles down onto the cool wooden floorboards with the support of my heels against her back, I'm thinking about where I should start.

Where did we start?

I wouldn't want to get anything wrong. You always got everything right. It's been eight months. But I think I finally know what to say.

Our story. Is that okay? All I really know is our story. I wish I knew yours from the very start. Before you moved next door to me and my family. Before you got Bella. Before us. Before everything. I know our story. Yours and mine. And I hope that's enough.

So, this is it.