I remember the day I met Katherine. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it; it just doesn’t seem possible. That’s what I think to myself, as I cut up the vegetables for my dinner. It’s cold to the touch, a constant line to the reality I don’t want to dwell on; the reality that she is gone.

I can remember her, though. I can remember how the sun streamed through her hair, setting it alight. I can remember how beautiful I thought she was, when I first met her, and how I stared into her eyes, and thought that I had never seen the like of them before. It wasn’t love at first sight. It wasn’t anything from the fairy tales-but it was real, when it got there, even if it took its time.

I notice how easily the knife cuts, now, how quickly it slices through the vegetables flesh. My mind returns to its memories, unwilling to leave them.

She had almost fallen, that first time I saw her. Clumsy, I thought, not knowing the grace she was capable of. She was a dancer, at heart. I remember how she laughed about her clumsiness. I was impressed by that-how she could laugh at herself. Besides, I liked her laugh. It seemed to say that she was a nice person, silly as that is.

I’m done with the vegetables, now, but I don’t put down the knife; it’s time for the meat. The blade is still just as sharp, and I have more memories to go through before I’m finished.

She walked through the park every day, I found out later. Talked to the regulars, said hi to people, petted the dogs. She liked nature, she told me; liked seeing the world, rather than spending all her time in a building. I went to the park every day after I found out, as well. If she noticed the change, she didn’t say anything.

The meat squirts out blood as the knife passes through it, but not much. I was happy to see it was a clean cut. My mind is still drifting though, and it isn’t done.

It took me weeks to ask her out, but I did it. Got to know her a bit at a time, as the days went by, and then I did it; never regretted it either, not even now that she’s gone. I wouldn’t have liked going through life without her.

I’m done with the meat now, but I don’t put down the knife. I hold it, instead, feeling its coldness, and weight, painfully aware of its sharpness, letting it pull me back to the reality that I had wanted to escape. The reality where my wife did not exist, and there is only the knife to comfort me. I put the knife down.

The meal still has to be cooked, and I would like to eat dinner tonight.