The Quiet Hour

The quiet hour has come again when the moon dimly lights up the sky, and the sun had gone to retire. 

Except from the slow drips of water from the forgotten faucet and the rhythmic ticking of the clock, an eerie silence fills the night.

---

In my room, I open a bottle of wine as my body feigned to sleep. I haven't slept in days and yet I am very much awake as I have been since you left. I take a sip of my wine and let the heat flow through my skin. It feels strange. I haven't felt warmth for so long, that I shudder from the alien feeling of it. 

The glass makes a clinking sound as I put it down in my bedside table beside a smiling photograph of you. 

I think it was the same picture displayed during your funeral. I should have been cried out now, and yet I can still feel the tears forming in my eyes as I trace your face in the photograph. 

"If only I was there to hold your hand during that final hour," I thought to myself over and over again. 

But I couldn't. Even if I wanted to, I wasn't allowed to.  

It wasn't me who had clutched your cold hands like a life-line as you lay there dying, no matter how much I wished it to be. 

I go to the closet to take out the clothes you have left here before. I take a whiff and I can still smell your scent. 

It was exactly how I remembered your scent to be. You had that weird chocolate and vanilla scent that reminded me of a sweet dessert. I proceed to the left side of the bed to lay out your clothes beneath the blankets. 

Tonight, I will try to get some sleep and I want it to be with you.   

I lay down beside your laid out clothes, and imagine you with me. I imagine you reaching out to me, holding my hand and pulling me close to you. You kiss my temples, as if a sign of saying good night, and leans down to whisper in my ear. This time, there are no complications. 

"I love you. I am here to stay," you whisper. And our breathing fills the quiet hour. 

---

The quiet hour has come again when the moon dimly lights up the sky, and the sun had gone to retire. 

Except from the restless breathing of a lover, and the hushed cries of the wife - an eerie silence fills the night.