A cat in a laundry basket

This morning, I woke up, put on some music and began to clean, manically.
Cat-boxes. Laundry. Dishes. Trash. Newspapers that had piled up for approx 2 weeks.
I 'cleared out' Wash's bathroom/The Guest bath.
Half of the stuff I just threw out, the other half; his beard stuff, his aftershave, his handwritten notes (How to brush teeth, how to wash his hair and face etc) though, I put in a basket and put it under the sink. I can't bring myself to "find" a different place for them.
When I was washing dishes my Pyrex coffee carafe slipped and shattered. When it did, it also broke a plate.
An ordinary Ikea plate.
Just one from the set we bought together when we first got engaged and moved in together.

When that happened I ended up kinda crumpling to the ground and just sobbed for a half hour.

Rationally, I know. It's a fucking plate. I still have 5 more of the same colour, and 6 more the same size. It's already been thrown out.

But, for me, it was just a shock. When it broke, that memory of us being together when we got it, how excited and hopeful we were for everything at that point... it all came back to me in a flashback.
And it brought me down. Literally. I could not physically stand, or stop my tears.

Over a gorram PLATE.

Steps forward, steps back.
Like a serrated knife of Life along my heart.

Every day I wake up it feels "wrong". I keep expecting to wake up out of this reality.

I want to wake up next to him again. I know I can't. But I want it.