And I Go On

Woke up around 2. Dark and quiet. Just me and the moon. Too quiet. Almost wrong. I feel the other half of the bed. Empty. Just a cold space where you should be. Thunder heard in the distance. It's somewhere behind the hills. I can't sleep. No sound. No you. I'm not afraid but something isn't right. I shiver but I'm warm. Maybe a ride. Maybe some space. Take some space. That's what you did isn't it. The thunder is closer. Maybe no ride tonight. Rain. It pelts my window like peppered bullets. Lightening strobes across my land. I see your truck. It's still ripped in half from your accident. Power in the house is out. Now I'm afraid. Candles are downstairs. It's only been three days since your funeral. I still expect to meet you on the landing asking me about your boots and bike. The wind is heavy now and the thunder won’t ease. My house, my night, my life is storm worn. Candles lit. Wish you were here. We could light a fire and have some wine. I don't think I won't ever feel you. I’ll try sleep. Try. As I ascend the stairs I swear I hear you whisper some crazy idea. I laugh and feel embarrassed since I'm laughing alone. I move guided by dim candle to our bed. I freeze when I see your side turned down, and your wet boots under my open window. This time I woke up around 2. Shauna Woodbury