Not Today

It's hard to pinpoint when I became aware of it. I"m shamed to say that the majority of the time I'm just like every other human being: Self-centered. But I woke up one day with the realization that he wasn't here anymore.

Oh, don't get me wrong, he still lays beside me in our bed each night. He still sits across from me at our dinner table. He is there in every way that doesn't count.

That look in his eyes, the one that always reassured me, is absent. His kisses, his touch, they don't persuade anymore, don't tease or cajole. They simply are. But, worse, is the way his smiles and his laughter slowly fade until they are shadows of themselves. Memories of what was.

He'll tell you that he loves me. He'll shout it from rooftops like crazed stalkers, he'll stencil it on notebook covers like love-sick teenagers, he'll carve it into trees and engrave it into jewelry. If you ask him to. If you question him.

He'll always say that he loves me. He might even mean it. He probably does. But he's not in love with me anymore.

On the bad days, on the worst days, I wonder if he ever was.

So I lay here in our bed. Gazing at his face in the growing morning light. Feeling my heart swell and ache with an emotion that can't be defined with things as simple as four letter words and wedding bands. Knowing that one morning I will wake up and his side of the bed will be empty.

I'm just thankful it's not today.