Went to see my beautiful little hubby earlier today. He felt so cold. His chest looked like a pigeon chest I think they call it, so I unbuttoned his shirt and it was bandages from the autopsy. Bandage round his neck to cover the ligature marks. I was compelled to look at those as well. I didn't realise he'd be so cold and damp. They didn't put make-up on him thank fuck. I can't talk to anyone face to face about this at the moment. Too raw. But I need to get it out, so than you for listening to me bleating.
He was the kindest, gentlest person ever, so endearing and so fucking clever and creative. I fell in love with his mind, but then joked that I only married him for his body. He was a beautiful man, tall and slender. He rocked skinny chinos. Beautiful dark curly hair, olive skin and this awesome roman nose. When I saw him today his lips weren't as full as they were. When he was little, he'd make weird concoctions filled with sweets and cream for his family. I've got this crazy photograph of him, he's about 6 and high as a kite on e-numbers. Even as an adult, if there were sweets and coca cola in the house, he'd gobble them and go a bit excitable.
When I'd get home from college, I'd imagine my beautiful little hubby waiting for me, one leg crossed over the other, cup of tea in hand, apple core on the table next to him. Before our wedding, my friend (who is a straight bloke) joked to me he was going to kill me and turn up wearing a wig and a veil and trick hubby into marrying him instead. Oh I could go on, but thank you if you've read this far.