Saturdays by Palabrino

This morning I rolled over, expecting to feel the bed shift as you pull me close. The curtains quietly flapped, the wall clock echoed out the early hour through calm air, and the bed remained perfectly still. I buried my face into your pillow still encased in its forest green cover. After a month is it you I smell, or just the memory of you? Does it matter?

I'm not alone.

Lydia's staying down the hall. Devon visits at least twice a week. Mack calls whenever she gets a moment. Which, indifference to her busy schedule, seems like every hour.

Love, I'm not alone, but I feel as if I'm floating above this life. I can get up, dress, eat, laugh, but it still feels like I'm watching my body spilt in two. A part of me understands I must seek closure, while the other fights to start down an infinite road to find its true mate...you.

From sunrise to sundown I'm the picture of composure. Occasionally I space out, gazing into the lens of another era, only to snap back to the present and sigh. With you, there existed certainty that the rainy days would pass. Without you, they seem to last until they retreat with the shame of picking on a tired soul.

It's after the moon tucks the sun into the horizon, that the rickety fence surrounding my peace collapses. I stayed up the first night after your accident staring out our bedroom window. As my eyes project how an "I" and "you" can shape an "us", I find a reason to live on. Piece by piece I find the strength to rebuild the fence, hoping that the strength I find in your memory will teach me to love again.

The end