Under the sink

​It is cold in here. Lying next to a fridge does that to you. You feel the cold in your bones. My bones are breaking from the lack of it all. You have never been really here. This pieces my heart like a sharp knife, not the one you are thinking of but the one that is hiding under the kitchen sink, it fell down there a long time ago and no would could be bothered to rescue it. Its like us, we stopped. The care and attention we gave to it has ceased to be a joint effort. A long time has past and I can feel the ridges in my side thinking of the way we used to be. Better days have arrived but yet something remains and keeps me coming back to that knife under the sink. 

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