Saturday, August 24, 2013

The Swing

It's 8:30 pm.  I am sitting alone on the patio swing that Jim and I assembled a few years back.  The garden lights just lighted up the trees in front of my eyes.  I can't see the back pond anymore, though I can hear the waterfalls and the stupid frogs on my right.  On my left, the cockatiel keeps on whistling.  Sometimes, it would say hello to me.  The sky in front of me is getting darker quickly, leaving just a little brightness above the tree line across the pond.  The climbing rose next to the swing has made it's way to cover the right half of the top of the swing.  If Jim were sitting next to me right now, the roses would touch his face.  But the swing is half empty, just me and three little pillows. 

Tonight, we celebrate two of my sisters' birthdays.  The food was plenty and good.  I didn't really join them.  I took my plate and sat at the stairways to eat by myself.  I was afraid I couldn't hold my tears.  My mom, dad, two sisters, and one brother asked where Jim was.  The others didn't seem to care, as they never seemed to care before.  Multiple thoughts went through my mind:  I love Jim; I miss Jim; I want Jim to share the good food (I specifically requested my niece to make the appetizer that Jim liked; I also requested my mom to make the baby clams that Jim liked); did we make the right decision?; we did the right thing; I want Jim to go to the Gay Pride thing this weekend; I want Jim to rejoin the Gay Dad group; I want Jim to be happy; I worry about Jim; will Jim find time to eat?; will Jim take good care of himself?; I love Jim; I love Jim; I love Jim. 

It's too dark now.  There are more mosquitoes than a few minutes ago.  I'm going inside.  Tonight is the first time I really treasure this swing.

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