The first day without you was nearly four months ago. The first day without you, that is today, too. Just now, my eyelids grew heavy and I set my book aside, and there you were. For a moment. For a while, until reality overtook the illusion. Yet, for a little while, you were there with me, for some time. Like when I hear your little bell at night, or your voice, so soft, calling: “love!" I meant to say nothing, but when I laid the book down, there you were, for a while. And weeping, I rose. For you. For us. For fifty-one years of marriage, and fifty-four years of trust. Still lingering, for some time, because those years shone quietly through. For a moment. Even without you.
