pillow talk

sometimes i imagine these words we'd share. and then i have to turn my head away because it breaks something open in me that must stay closed. it cannot gush and run like a sore anymore. it has to stop being picked at and forced to ooze. i have to let it heal. have to.

but i'm tired now. my eyes unfocused in the dark, and i reach out for the knob, always hoping my hand will find you instead. but you are not there, never there.

and it's to sleep, perchance to dream again.

unsettling these dreams of late, and i try to shake them off with the demands of the day, but they keep themselves alive camping around in my psyche, and there is nothing i can do to stave off these dreams, the unwanted visitors who come to me late at night and force themselves up from my subconscious.

and i must reconcile that you are gone. and i am still alone.

we sat and talked for hours under the sheltering tree. our girls in the pool swimming and laughing. while we cried, and laughed, and wooed each other out of numbness back into light, and life.

women can do that for each other. call forth the life. stir up the willingness to live again.

and i wonder where i would be without the women who have saved me, have rallied around me. have, each in their small way, not filled your shoes so much as shown me their shoes.

your shoes cannot be filled. i understand this.

and i do not try.

i leave them empty, pointed toward the bed. beside the empty chair that i hope will one day hold you.

and for now, it is enough. to be alive. that a group of fledgie blue jays await my return from the gym so i can scatter peanuts. that the cardinals come by two to my garden still.

and the tiger swallowtail wafts high overhead, and i believe dreams return that way, out of the blue and we welcome the sight of them, however far away they are, their pattern indistinguishable. but our souls cry out, yes, i recognize you. i remember you. i remember what it was, once, to dream.