The Longest Hours

The night hours are the longest when the radio and TV become a nuisance and the lights are shut out. I wake with a start, almost rudely becoming aware that something is wrong. By the glow of the digital clock, the rings on the nightstand serve as evidence that indeed, something is wrong.

You’ve been gone for a while now. Your absence is as acute today, tonight as it was in the beginning. Resignedly, I reach for those rings and return them to the finger that you first placed them on. The long hours pass, the glow from the digital numbers confirm it. By dawn’s early light, I drift off the sleep finally, only to be haunted by dreams of you.

The weight of your bands on my hand anchor me in thought and in comfort.  You weren’t a figment of my imagination.  You were a dream come true.  Our history is no fairy tale; drama and pain, love and trial colored every page that we wrote together.  But it was together, always together, that we faced each day and each night.

I know, I know, I KNOW that as I lie here alone in our bed, you are in heaven.  Your life improved when you died.  My life ended.


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