Today’s the first day of my last day with you. I’m a bit confuse, though, because my heart’s melancholic yet it’s full of joy.
Six decades, six decades and four years to be exact. That’s how long we have been together.
A lot asked how we remained committed for so long, how we kept the fire burning. We have no answer, we just look at each others’ eyes, and smile. Nothing’s too long, and no there’s no fire. It’s simple. Marriage is a choice you made everyday.
Perfect marriage isn’t true. Like any couple, we fight, cursed and almost fell apart. You cheated, twice. It took me too long to forgive, in fact, I almost packed my bags. But we choose to make amends. Why? Because it’s worth it.
No rough roads can equal our simple pleasures. It’s more than sex. It’s more than kisses. It’s your soft whispers every morning that gave me chills until we’re both seniors.
You never say good morning. Instead, you whisper Emily Dickinson’s words to my ears: “Forever is composed of nows.” It has been our marriage’s mantra. It has been the glue that kept us together.
It’s those three single life moments when I saw you cry.
First time’s when I was walking down the aisle towards you. Second time’s when you first held our eldest. Third time’s during our final morning together. You definitely know you’re dying, because you cried after you whispered “Forever…”
Your skin have aged with years, but your eyes and your smile remained the same. Still expressive, still endearing. That’s why I cried when I saw you inside the casket. Your eyes can never melt me again. Your smile can never warm my heart again.
“Dear,” I said in between sobs, as I look to you for the final time.
My old heart’s aching. The lump in my throat’s unbearable. But I can’t help but be grateful. 64 years, 64 long years, what more can I ask for?
“Good night, dear,” I finally said.
“I’ll wait until you can finally whisper forever again.”
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer