The nights would become a burden that would breathe down my neck during the days.
And sometimes I would cry, to myself, to my husband.
She was the reason for my tears and I was the answer to hers.
It’s not that I don’t remember it, but the sharp inhale of it all has faded.
Last night, she called out for me and I went to her, like I always have.
The hallways aren’t tunnels like they used to be.
She whispered to me that I was her best friend in that little lisp of hers and kissed my nose.
She pulled my face in so we were breathing one in the same.
I could feel her lashes on my cheek.
She traced the wrinkles around my eyes, the ones I’m newly conscious about.
The ones she couldn’t care less about.
And wrapped her arms around me, knowing it would be harder for me to sneak away.
And I let her.
Because I don’t want to forget the way she looks at me as if I scattered the stars in the sky.
I close my eyes instead of waiting for her arm to soften.
No longer feeling like an island.
No longer up and down all night.
Just there as she drifts off, until it will be no longer.
We never ‘cracked the code’ of sleep.
But as I lie here now,
I think it was meant to be this way,
For both of us.