To know for an hour you were mine completely... Mine in body and soul, my own-
Friday, May 21st
The Cafe', early evening
He was gone.
When my eyes fluttered open, I went to touch his head, but it was not there. The bed beside me still felt warm, and I could still smell him in my nightgown... but there was no Kent.
There never was a Kent. There has always been the being that wore a face that pleased me, and played a part that charmed me, but there was never a real Kent Whitman.
Except there was. For three days, Kent Whitman was a living, breathing human man who loved me, and his daughter. Who laid in my arms, and felt more real to me than anything else in this world. I wished for him, and he was here. I don't know how, but he was here. It wasn't a facade, or a act, or even like when we all forgot. Kent was alive, and mine. And I was his. And we were happy!
I could only lie there and cover my face and weep for what might have been until Rose woke and started to cry. A quick scan of her thoughts told me she was confused as well, but how could I explain to her something I could not understand myself? I merely held her close, and told her over and over that I loved her, and I was sorry, even though I had not idea what I was apologizing for.
The day passed in somewhat of a blur. I opened, worked, and closed. And that was all I could manage. Cooking be damned. Off to the cafe' with us. With Rose comfortable in her sling, I find a table and take a seat, ordering a salad with grilled chicken. But I really have no appetite for it, just push a piece of carrot around with my fork, replaying the last three days in my head.
Three days... I had three days...
(Open)
The Cafe', early evening
He was gone.
When my eyes fluttered open, I went to touch his head, but it was not there. The bed beside me still felt warm, and I could still smell him in my nightgown... but there was no Kent.
There never was a Kent. There has always been the being that wore a face that pleased me, and played a part that charmed me, but there was never a real Kent Whitman.
Except there was. For three days, Kent Whitman was a living, breathing human man who loved me, and his daughter. Who laid in my arms, and felt more real to me than anything else in this world. I wished for him, and he was here. I don't know how, but he was here. It wasn't a facade, or a act, or even like when we all forgot. Kent was alive, and mine. And I was his. And we were happy!
I could only lie there and cover my face and weep for what might have been until Rose woke and started to cry. A quick scan of her thoughts told me she was confused as well, but how could I explain to her something I could not understand myself? I merely held her close, and told her over and over that I loved her, and I was sorry, even though I had not idea what I was apologizing for.
The day passed in somewhat of a blur. I opened, worked, and closed. And that was all I could manage. Cooking be damned. Off to the cafe' with us. With Rose comfortable in her sling, I find a table and take a seat, ordering a salad with grilled chicken. But I really have no appetite for it, just push a piece of carrot around with my fork, replaying the last three days in my head.
Three days... I had three days...
(Open)