Outrun the night

I wrap myself in a tshirt worn by him, his fragrance tickling my senses as I curl up on the bed.  This shirt that’s cut for man’s’ body is too large for me and the fabric folds itself between my legs, caressing my thighs like a warm hand. I roll over, reaching an arm across the sheets, feeling cold where the warmth of his body should be.

Nights are the hardest. Sometimes I wonder if he’s ever coming home though I know he is. It’s just that he’s been gone so very, very long.  I scrunch a pillow up under my head and lay staring at the ceiling, wishing the night away.

I can hear the wind rattling the outside of the house and  objects thud against the exterior.  I rarely question living this far from town but then the solidarity creeps up and the emptiness I feel inside makes me restless.  I try to outrun the night but I can’t hide from it’s inky chill.

I toss and turn watching shadows dance across the wall, a beam of light reflected from somewhere outside.  The t.v. screen flashes a DishTV message at me.  I turn my face away, ignoring it.

I press his shirt against my nose, close my eyes and breathe deeply.  It’s the nearest thing I have to his touch and I revel in it…for the moment. I can almost hear the soft thudding of his heart, his slow, steady breathing, feel the heat from his flesh.  I swim in a sea of warm memories.

Jeannie Palmer 2012

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