Slumber

It was the way the life faded from your eyes. They were reddened and inflamed, glistening like rubies that had fallen into the sea -- they were fixed on me until they drifted off into space, aimless and tired, and then there was the stillness, the silence. The tree outside your window cast a shadow over your body as though it were an omen for what was to come; you were a farm girl raised from the earthly soil and would return there without a fight. How peaceful you looked, how serene, content as though life were a mere process of sowing your impression upon our psyches and that, with your absence, we could all finally reap the benefits. On the day of your burial it began to rain. The dry, blind earth could not differentiate the rainwater from our tears.

The memories came flooding back and everything around me dissipated -- if these images were merely the residue of your physical existence then so be it, they were pure and they were beautiful. You spread yourself out like a fog and I felt you permeate through everything, absolutely everything, the changing leaves and birds soaring through the sky and, most of all, our daughter. Her eyes are crystalline and piercing just like yours.

We never fully understood each other, but I loved you all the same. Your impression left an impact on me and, in that sense, these mere after images aren't so different from when you were still here, breathing and sitting right next to me.

I look back and know there are things I should've done differently. I should've told you that I loved you more. I should've told you that I appreciated it when you tended the garden. I should've told you that your favorite sun tanned dress was gorgeous instead of tacky. I should've thanked you for looking after our daughter when I was tired from work. I should've done a lot of things. But all that is over now, and they are not the worries of those who are eternally slumbering -- please close your eyes and rest.