Fresh Paint
The smell of fresh paint lingers
in my nose, in the air.
Crisp sheets lay smooth,
untouched with
hospital corners.
I dreamed of holding you
in our bed.
A king size bed is too big for one.
Wedding gifts are strewn across
our dining room table.
I dreamed of eating together there
as man and wife,
candlelit dinners,
and meals with laughing children...
dreams that will never come true.
A family room quietly sits alone
without a family.
A yard waits outside for a garden
that will never be planted.
Nothing is as it seems.
Only my flowing tears are real tonight.
A new home, a new marriage...
but my other half is only here
in spirit.
Only one returned from
our honeymoon...
I wish it was me who died that dark night.
The doctors said nothing could be done...
A silent killer stole you from sleep and from me
while I slept next to you...
nothing could be done,
a beginning and an end.
Life changes in a moment.
Now, our dream home is for sale.
The dream is gone.
I cannot bring myself to sleep in our bed,
so I make up the couch tonight...again.
My heart calls out for you.
My arms reach out for you.
I taste your lips on mine.
I smell you, see you, hear your voice
whispering my name.
Your touch lingers with
the smell of fresh paint.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, June 29, 2012
*a work of fiction for If I Had a Broken Heart Contest
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2012
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