One of the worst mornings of my life was the day I woke beside his lifeless body. It was like a bedroom out of a Wyeth painting- with old planked floors, exposed beams overhead, and a wood burning stove in the corner. He and I never got along, and for those reasons, he shouldn't have done what he did that morning.
Afterward, he waited at the bottom of the stairs in his work clothes- with that same old smirk across his face. I was still wearing my tears, and his sweat too, and would rather not have seen him off. We never loved each other. For heavens sake, we never even liked each other.
One night I shared with him that his swearing was too much. At that, he exclaimed "Jesus Christ! What's your problem?" It was that sort of love- one that had no understanding or care to understand.
One day we went to the Big Apple, and he made me cry in front of all those thousands of onlookers. I can see what they mean when they talk of New York City being a lonely one. He nearly left me there. But somehow we managed the drive home- me with my tears and he with his swearing mouth.
Once we even looked at diamonds. He had something nasty to say about every ring and every salesperson. I tried to pretend he was still a prince, and that I would still someday marry, but not to him- not ever. For how far he was from anything lovely or anything of beauty. I'd rather have lived in a cardboard box with the lonely in that Big Apple.
One day I decided to stop by his house- late at night. He was so angry. He always was. He showed himself to me and I was so innocent. It just wasn't how I wanted things to be- not then, not with him.
I haven't seen him now for years and think of him all too often. For some memories just take too long to fade. I wish there was something one could do to ease the mind of the past, and all its sadness too, but it seems that good things and good people are all that can be done to bring ones sanity back. Jesus Christ. It's amazing how those two words can be spoken.