Sometimes


Happy Birthday Husband

Sometimes, when I look at him it’s as if I’m already looking at a memory.  The image is soft and faded and tinged at the edges with a honeyed poignancy.  Like I have taken a picture with my eyes and stowed it away for safekeeping in an old box in the attic of my mind to be rummaged through one day. But the signals have become crossed and instead of seeing what is before my eyes, I’ll see what is behind them.
Sometimes, when the filtered moonlight sifts through the blinds painting horizontal shadows on the bedroom wall and I am resting in his warmth I’ll listen to him breathe. In the morning half-light he’ll hold onto me and say “Five more minutes.” And I’ll wish for five hundred more years.

Sometimes, I’ll look back and see the boy I never knew in the face of the man I do.

Sometimes, I’ll look past the curve of the earth into our future.  Two old men, grey and stooped holding hands.  Lying in a hospital bed one curled up like the letter “C” next to the other, vowing to never let go. 
Sometimes, I’ll wish that we had more time together and then I’ll be thankful for every single minute of every single day.  Especially on this day when the sum time of his life is celebrated.

 

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