As I sit, and wait, and think, I know that these moments although painful, will not last. Outside my window I hear almost nothing. The night is dark and the moon is only a sliver in the sky. The night is cold, and the rare car on the dark, wet road outside the window offers little comfort. More than anything I want company, but I know it’s not possible.
Across the room, you are sleeping and as I watch the sheets rise and fall, I know that you are still there. You make mention of the ghosts all around, and I know you see them, but I refuse. I would rather be angry and alone than see what is coming and what is leaving.
I imagine you instead. I imagine your window and what might be outside it. The sun is shining where you are, the trees budding and flowers bursting with life. I can almost feel the warm sun on my face as I strain to see you… Almost.
Just as I get comfortable in your world, the whizzing sound of a passerby car brings me back to my own. I am here. I whisper in the darkness of the room, that I am here. My words hang silently in the night air and then softly drift to your bedside.
I feel very small in your old chair and I wonder if you can hear me. I wonder if anyone can. I look again out the window and up at the empty sky, and wonder. The window is beginning to frost up and I, too tired to wipe it, look again at the sheets for movement. You are still with me. I sit there still and hope my stillness will somehow make you appear more full of life.
The moon slips behind a dark night cloud, and the room is dark now. I listen, to the sounds of the night and wait for the sunrise. Until then…
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