By now you're sure it's all a well organized competition, one of who could make you feel the worst. The punches just don't stop. And it pisses you off more than you let on. Work is piling in your office, and every day there is so much new stuff, you don't get the chance to process half of it.
Your radio broke down. You love hearing music; and the news often told of the war your better half fought in. It was very important. This thing was so expensive and now, having to be replaced, you have to use the money you originally wanted to spend on a nice vacation once your husband returned.
Gizmo died too. Your loyal pet rabbit. A little grey ball of fluff. Your only company on lonely, rain filled days, when you couldn't help but think of him.
𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐬.
Today is no different. You left work late, having worked overtime as per usual, and the bus you normally took has long departed. A single, loud thunder had rattled the sky. No second later, the first drops of rain fell from the dark void opening above you.
Of course, this particular bus stop doesn't have any roofing.
Rain drenches your clothes. You're soaked through and through.
People run to shelter, protecting their heads and hair with the help of brief cases and hands. The masses that had previously crowded the streets disappear.
All that's left is you.
You stay. Right where you stand.
Staring blankly at the darkening streets, your bag under your arm, you don't even care enough to hold something over your head. No, not when you feel like you're going to burst any second. Slowly, your head tilts upwards, eyes closing as rain hits your face. So much of it, there's no way anyone can ever spot the tears forming and falling.
You miss him. God, do you miss him. Every day. Every minute of existence.
He is the reason you aren't concentrated, too unmotivated to do anything but sit around. You have no energy nowadays. You're often at the loss of words whilst in a conversation and sometimes, give up on it entirely. A headache plagues you constantly, buzzing away in the back of your mind whilst working.
𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑚.
Arthur has always been working for the British government. He is intelligent. He is charming. And he knew how to utilise these skills well. No wonder he is so popular. Still, every evening, he came home to have dinner, and you fell asleep in each others arms. He told you of his days, his missions, no matter how classified they were. You went on walks. You visited caffes and restaurants. You lived and loved despite this dangerous job of his.
