 | James Callahan February 9 | There is a sadness which
I am used to – accustomed to the
feel of, but unhappily so;
the heaviness which rests on my
chest as I breath on the way
to sleep, praying to fall so soon
and without tears tonight;
long gone, too long ago to recall
sitting in a chair in their room
wondering if they begged me to
go to my own bed
for the night as they
were weary of the day,
or even of me, I can remember
paging through their wedding
album filled with youthful,
smiling faces long aged by
wrinkles I must have caused,
and his voice – if that's truly
what I recall – asking my kindly
to find my own bed, finally,
and rest for the night, and
I was sad then as well. | | | |  | You can also reply to this email to leave a comment. | | | | |
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