You’re Not Here Next To Me

It began the way all things began, with a wish and a prayer and a hand stretched out.

It ended the way some things end as well, with a wish and a scream and a hand stretched out.

But the middle, oh the middle, was where most of it was, where most of it still is, truth be told. And it is the middle that I am writing about and you are reading.

Life was good.

No, that sounds trite.

Life was excellent.

That still doesn’t sound quite right.

Life just was.

There, that sounds better.

They had a little home, a place where he would come to after a long day’s hard work and where she would spend the day working on things at home. She raised a garden that he helped to plant and she tended to the chickens that he brought home and gathered the eggs every evening for the next day. During the evenings he would work on mending by the firelight and she’d practice her reading skills and basic arithmetic. Sometimes he’d have to set the mending aside and help her when she ran into a word or problem that was harder than the others.

And so life went on for them. They weren’t rich and they weren’t poor. They were somewhere in between and that was good enough for them.

And then, on a day like any other for this couple, everything changed.

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