Monday
Dec102012
A few minutes past midnight
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Walking as softly as I can
down a creaky corridor
I turn into his room
make my way to the bed
The stillness is its own noise
and it is far too dark to see
I raise my hand to the familiar
place in the air
It's the same as being underwater, I think
Reaching upward to light at the surface because its somehow familiar, comforting
Because its just the place your hand should be
My palm falls momentarily on his spine
I don't squint this time
I don't lean in closer as usual
I exhale just a bit
I can feel his breath at my wrist
All is well.
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