Don't ask me why I am here.
I don't have the answer to that. I am walking around, touching everything and trying to feel him through the stuff in his house. I love knowing that he was here, he touched the same things I am touching now. I go to the master bedroom and I stand on the doorway, just looking at everything, taking in everything at once. The bed is well made, the room is neat just like I knew it would be. I walk over to his closet and I switch on the lights in the closet and walk as I run my fingers through the many racks holding his suits, his scent filling the space I can feel it in my throat. There is a shirt that is on the floor and I slowly pick it up, and I hold it on my nose. It smells of him. I close my eyes as I inhale the scent. I open the drawers on the dresser and see his watches perfectly laid by the days he wears them.
I know this because I gave him grief for being such a stickler to details and asked him why he would mix it up, be spontaneous.
