The old man sat on the bench, his nearby Gin now warm and his pizza slice cold. While the air chilled further, a slight breeze moved his gray eyebrows and hair, ever so slightly.
He stared at his aged hands, holding only one page from her diary with an image of a Bluebird, printed with nice words of comfort.
He stared at nothing, but maybe into yesterday.
In a soft voice, he began to talk to someone no longer there.
“Heart, please sing to me tomorrow, though you have only silence for me now. I pray I can join you soon, hear you and hold you like before. You left me so suddenly that my mind now has a wall where you used to be, my loving Heart.”
“One side is where you and I lived and loved. This side, only me. I don’t like my wall, I don’t like my side without you. My mind is filled with history, of times we had before.”
He took a breath, and spoke louder, feeling more confident.
“You should be sitting near me like you used to. Sometimes on my knees, picking at my hair, trying to tame it. I loved the times you deplored me to come back when I traveled far and wide. The times when we watched our children plant and grow with huge smiles and lives of their own.”
“We were so proud. Our life so good.”
“We had those precious times when you and I had each other and no worries, too seldom, too few. Our children now grown and departed, loved you even as me. But, they have a wide path to follow, while mine is now quite thin.”
“Please sing in my ear, and I will smile as you do, my Heart. ”
He was through now, all words gone.
He roused himself after the sun was long down, shuffled his feet, forced a stand, groaning on the way up.
He took first one step, paused, then another, wondering where he would go next.
Home? Not a home anymore without his Heart.
A bar? Nothing worse than an old drunk crying.
A church? Not right now, his anger lay on his soul like a quilt, smoldering. No.
Where could he go, with darkness so deep, with silence so heavy, with a history of love now gone?
Their children? Which would welcome him? Why would he burden them?
Too many questions, too few answers.
The old man stumbled back to his bench, still ignoring his warm Gin and cold Pizza and the page with a Bluebird, again, and reversed back to seated.
The old man now wanted to just sit, till the wall was gone and his Heart returned.
“Tomorrow, please sing to me tomorrow my Heart.”
Such is love, where we embrace and grow, later to wither and die. Love so grand that death cannot end.
Love so sweet, we chance to see it fail. Love of life and a life of love, worth that final silence, hoping a new door will open into the wall.