By any other name...
This would still be a night alone. No fancy metaphors, no confusing Army mumbo jumbo... by any other name... this Wednesday night, may as well be a Monday or Saturday. This night does not deserve it's own name. I still spill over these words... I still beat the keys of my keyboard with moderate efficiency and accuracy... mediocre. This night is mediocre. Melancholy... I still stare at his smile placed so sweetly and delicately on the top of my computer monitor. So fragile that the slightest bump of my rickety desk, and the frame fumbles to the floor... tumbling many times before making it's crash. Today is not different. I still pick it up, wipe it off, kiss his face, and place it back in the same dangerous yet provocative spot. I must be able to see his face in every room. Each day I walk through our house... my head looks left of the bed... I see his face. it the bathroom I brush my teeth, and look at his blue eyes staring back at me. In the kitchen I make the coffee... I open the freezer, slam the door shut, and his picture jiggles on the front. As I watch TV, and he watches with me. As I sit and type to you, dear blogger, he sits with me.
Each day I am faced with a reminder of what's "missing". Not happiness... not love... just the comfort of both. I have them, but they are out of reach. As if I've purchased a great new pair of shoes, but they are on lay-away for an uncertain length of time... but, when the shoes come on, the crooked smile is wiped from my face, and replaced with tears of joy and sore cheeks.
1 comment:
I'm thinking a life size cutout would help greatly?
Post a Comment