Stop the clock. I take it all back - if only i could actually do that; take back the shouting, the acusations, the guilt, the mental torment. Replace it with peace.
It's never going to happen now. Not nearly 3 years on it's not - that's for sure.
To lose one is bad enough, but then a second and final? Within a year of each other!
Who can remember what that 11 months in-between two two contained? Not me. And don't even mention the two years after that. They're a write off too.
The nights were so long - waiting for the inevitable. You, not wanting to go to bed for fear of losing more time to sleep - that little death. It felt like a waste and, as usual, you were right.
And that last night?! You must have had that hotline to the weatherman after all! Such a storm! The lounge being illuminated the by temporary night-blue was so impressive that we turned off the telly and just watched. Took it all in. The enormity and finality of it.
What a note to go out on... as theatrical as you could have ever wished for.
Each day after was a day further away from the life of you - further into a future that holds so much less beacuse you are gone.
Stop the clock. Three years on is more than I can cope with.
Miss Mone
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