there are mornings, when i wake, before the light crests the mountains to chase the shadows back into hiding, behind trees and such, behind us, that i am afraid to roll over and look for you in bed next to me.
somewhere in the night we separated and a chill crawled onto my back where your body once threatened to consume me in it s fire. shivering, i reach for memories to wrap round me like a woolly blanket, kindling to coax the fire back from the ashes.
nervous tears spilling the day you left the pregnancy test on the sink to let me know we were having a child...clinging to each other, whispering prayers in each others ears, when the bee stung you, waiting to see if we would have to give you the shot and rush to the hospital...sitting outside a cafe, sipping coffee, sun catching in your hair, like spun gold...i tear these pages out and ball them up in loose orbs, pushing them against dead coals, hoping for a spark.
the worse part are the dreams yet fulfilled, promises still unkept, sometimes these images are even more vivid, as we painted them together. watching our sons grow into men, seeing there first blush of love, standing on the banks of the seine as the stars twinkle on its surface in your arms. these are the breath i blow, sifting for one tiny bit of orange heat.
has all of this been a dream, from which i am now just awakening, never to happen? a joke that i am only now deciphering the punch line? this is when i hold my breathe and roll over, to find you sleeping peacefully and i am reassured that this is my reality. i pull near to you and in your warmth, slip back to sleep, resting once more, before i wake to my dreams.