Decade as a widower

Sitting next to you on that tramline home-- city whizzing by and childish delight in your eyes. The months weaving together as you fell for boyish charms and my Grecian temperament. 19 and in love- in a beautiful city of paintings and canvas. We had moved into our own apartment overlooking the meandering river that cast a sinuous trail of slime along the town's embankments.

And in that little alcove, I had grown into a man. It was picturesque. The crumpled bed linen and making love passionately daily. Your brunette hair combed back in the morning and woven down in the evening. Fuck me were you beautiful. Olive skin-- petite and full of warmth.

The years growing together. Wrestling in the kitchen, falling into bed. That twin bed where I would claw your folded arms from me every dawn. 23 and in love. Career prospects and moving on up. Watching you that one day run across the street, your hair gleaming in the sun. Hearing your patter up the stairs. Throw your arms around me and whisper that you've never felt so complete before.

The eventual marriage-- 28. One true time. The ceremony and pearly white smiles. The wedding suite, unslipping your velvet bodice, down down. Your soft tenderness and my brutish, European hands. You were safe in my arms. You were mine.

More years together. The birth of David. Schooling and parenting. Still so helplessly in love with you. Being there for you. Fucking you long and hard. Holding you in the night when you'd shiver and worry about him. And I'd told you it would all be okay. Because it always is and always has been.

That call that sends shivers down my skin ten years after. A car accident, too fast. Lifeless body pinned against the dashboard. Closing my eyes and seeing your face and reaching out and never being able to touch it. All these years, a widower. This all consuming rage that burns and embers in me. All the years I've woke in the night-- glazed in sweat and beaded in tears. Calling out to you. David's so handsome now, Marie. He's tall and bold and when he scrunches his face I see you. All these years I've woke up-- cold, alone, never feeling right. It's not right this world, it's not right