The sun was setting, and the noises of the city were almost bearable. He knew there were stars in the sky, but seeing them was rare as the pollution was constant. He closed the blinds, tried to fall asleep, and dreamed of her walking in a hay field, her summer dress blowing in the breeze, and her smile as big as the outdoors. He kept a small bottle of her perfume on the nightstand, keeping the stopper off so it would reach him and bring back the memory of her scent. But there were times his grief overwhelmed him, and he put the stopper back into the bottle, saying maybe another night.
After she passed, he took a job in the city, but it wasn't home for him. The people were running around and into each other like rats penned up in a small cage. Blank faces that forgot how to smile and hats that seldom got tipped to a lady. This wasn't the kind of life he wanted to be a part of, so he packed his things and whispered to her he was coming home. It was a long bus ride that welcomed him with fresh air coming through the windows and familiar smells of pine and red clay.
He tipped his hat to the lady driver and began the slow walk up the dirt road to the small cottage they had built together many years ago. He saw everything clearly as if it were yesterday as she hung out clothes to dry and tried to catch a chicken while he watched from a distance, holding onto his bag, knowing it wasn't real. He left after she was gone, thinking this place would never dry his tears, but he was wrong. Tears heal, and good memories take over. This is where she is in spirit, and he wouldn't want to be anywhere else. He was home.
mike 2024
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