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The skin of my hands is now like paper.
My life is written into it,
a delicate calligraphy of soft sagging,
purple blue veins
and folds of white that shift as I move.
I still wear the rose gold wedding band,
with its tiny sprinkling of diamonds.
My weight is less now, everywhere,
so the ring is loose and slides off
as if wanting to escape,
like you did.
Home is wherever you are.
I know we joked about death
and in a hospital's dim, antiseptic room, and
I swore I'd never cry.
You sometimes insisted crying was
You'd pat my hand, and call me your
It's been a while now, since I said good-bye
to you, as you
slept in the grassy bed you'd dream in forever,
and I can feel myself fade.
Because home is wherever you are.
I fade like the moonlight just before dawn,
like a flower standing up to an inevitable frost.
Like dew being kissed away by the hot
summer's sun, like
the trembling notes of music left to dangle
in the air after a pianist finishes stroking ivory keys.
Fading isn't so bad.
But knowing I won't be able to remember you,
won't get to miss you,
Will never again relive our life together in my mind
or read an old love note, withered by time,
it makes me break my promise.
I do cry, hot tears that flow,
I realize I disagree with you, darling.
Tears are not a sign of my weakness.
My tears are a sign of being strong, for too long now.
May I come home?