3:46
a.m.
My hazy gaze turns left for needless confirmation. The red LED numbers illuminate the
same combination night after night. It's a real life version of
Ground Hog Day, the movie, but it's a standing time they have, the one at which my body and mind choose to commune. Disturbing my peaceful slumber as wired toddlers do.
Eyelids remaining lightly closed and thoughts quickly, nimbly moving through my half-awake
state, I've learned to embrace these hours like a frisky and persistent lover. There's nothing else to do but give in.
In the not so long past, or so it seems, these moments were filled with nocturnal
whispers. I fondly remember them as the solitary yet perfectly perfect quiet time two/too busy parents had to be "together".
Then the years blew away like a dandelion’s fluff in strong wind. They sprouted wings without asking who was prepared. And these night whispers became one-sided conversation inside my head.
“What happened? Where's life going?”
But last night, it was different. Instead of looking towards the clock and grabbing my book, I inched over to the warmer side of the bed. Creeping within centimeters to feel his body heat, I watched his bare chest gently rise and fall. The movement was barely perceptible.
I began to whisper. Like
I used to do in the dark.
“Where
did it go?
Twenty-four years.
Am
I still as pretty… funny… smart... as I once was? To you.
Do
you love me differently… better… more... after a quarter of a century?
Tell
me.”
He rolled over pressing his good ear deep into the down. Lightly
brushing my fingertips down the length of his spine, he stirred when I softly said (or maybe it was my hand), "Happy Anniversary, Honey."
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33-333 words for:
b : an opportune or suitable moment
<decided it was time to retire> —often used in the phrase about time
<about time for a change>
33-333 words for:
