I am guilty.
It is not your normal, regular, run-of-the-mill, kind of guilt.
This is far, far more…incomprehensible. One, which is as impossible to escape from, as it was to have been entrapped within.
You see, I loved him.
That once, now seems so long ago it never truly belonged to me; which in all reality I do not suppose it did.
All I had, as you may have now, is the belief life would keep its promise.
I never asked for anything more than was possible; I never asked for the fairy-tale ‘happily-ever-after’.
I was not so foolish to think such things exist.
But, I did want it to last longer.
Yet still he has been taken from me, inexorably, imperceptibly, little by little, piece by piece; until there is nothing left but a thin parchment of skin hanging onto a frame of crumbling bones.
My love is in mourning for this body’s previous tenant, the man who was part of me, of who I am, my husband, my lover, my best friend.
I fear each day that passes I should forget his voice, of how his hands once held me firm. I fear of losing the sound of his laughter, the remembrance of deeply breathing in his scent. These things are only with me now as past memory.
I worry they too will be stolen from me, now someone else is living in his body.
I feel nothing for this interloper. I do not know him. I have never known him and have no wish to know him. That is why there is a distance between us, one which stretches much farther than the few inches apparent to the casual observer.
Yet there are social expectations which I must meet. So, I simply ‘go through the motions’, to satisfy the anticipations of others.
This is the guilt I carry, the burden which weighs heavily upon my soul, a guilt I have no way to assuage.
This is my confession.
© Paul White 2017