His lips moved.
His face reddened and a white froth began to form at the corners of
his mouth. Was he shouting at me? I couldn’t hear him.
I’d
woken next to him that morning. He
looked so peaceful, his eyelids tinged with blue, deep in the sleep he needed
so much. His skin glistened as the
dawning light danced across the film of perspiration that enveloped his body
like a personal firmament.
He
was so beautiful. I’d never seen him
like this before, his grey hair a halo on the pillow, his mouth relaxed into
a knowing smile.
His
beard was black. How strange! I didn’t know he had a beard. But there were many things I didn’t know about
him.
I
knew he was a kind man, a believer despite his vociferous doubts. It had been hard for him, the battle with his
blackness, that he thought defined the way he was perceived. What agonies people suffer needlessly in creating
the self.
His
call had awakened me. I must go now.
The light beckons. Adieu my love, my own. Rest in peace.
©
Bill Healey
