Summer's end

I walked through this day in a shroud of quiet sadness, yet none of it should surprise me. It's been almost a year since my husband and I separated. Less than a week has gone by since he's come home and I welcomed him with hope surrounding me. He came home at my request to further examine if there was any truth to the hope that I felt.

After just a couple of days, the hope faded ever so slowly, mocking me as the pendulum of truth swung heavily in the air. He lays on the couch, eyes closed. There is a cool breeze coming in the window on this August day. Just one day after my 47th birthday. I watch him, this man that I have loved for just a mere five years, still wondering how it is possible to love and yet fail so miserably. I watch him knowing that this will be the last time. The last time that we will attempt to mend what is not for us to mend. We both know. I look down at him, I lean down and kiss his soft lips. I whisper "I love you", and he looks at me knowingly because we both know that this is true. We also know there is nothing left to be said.

I grab my keys and head to the door looking back for just one second at the image of my lost future. I see all my dreams, hopes and love evaporate. I know that when I come back home, he will have left and once again the quiet of our home will resonate with the echo of our short lived love story.