The distance between us

meshed well with the sight

of recounting our first kiss

in her parent’s presence.

The silence in the present spoke

of its will for me to know.

But I questioned what I knew.

The second before my heart

caught wind of Helena’s crash,

I’d planned on asking

her to marry me.

But now, she can’t even hear me.

I spent weeks by her side

as she healed on a hospital bed.

I buried my head in folded prayer hands.

God heard me because I listened to myself.

I made an urgent plea before Thanksgiving.

Helena left her journal open.

I did what I shouldn’t have.

I went through and examined the pages.

I read her entries from her journal.

Helena loved me more than I imagined.

Her insecurities spread over the text like teardrops.

She didn’t know how to tell me

that our lives would change in nine months.

And she counted the cost of a new stroller.

I told her folks about falling in love with their daughter.

And that we’d been through things, Helena and me.

One night, after I said something stupid,

she said something stupid, too.

She left only to return the next day

as we agreed to disagree without losing

sight of what we’d been fighting

for behind closed doors.

I made her a candlelit dinner,

and she fucked me on the kitchen table.

As I closed the diary, Helena pushed

herself upright, gasped, and moved her hair out of her eyes.

She stretched and then shifted her focus to me

and smiled as she motioned me closer.

We embraced on Christmas Day.

By Andy Cooper

From: United States

Website: https://drinkcoffeewrite.online/

Twitter: AC0040