At the end of the world

~us~

Step by torturous step we enter our den. Our safe space, hers and mine. The evidence of a life well lived seeping out of every piece of furniture, and dripping down the walls in the form of seemingly endless rows of photographs. Kids, travels, our wedding, our legal wedding. 60 years. "Lana... darling, do you remember?," I ask knowing full well that to her those giddy grad students in big white gowns might as well be strangers.

"Remember I wanted to wear a suit, but you, my Hephaestion, would not let that happen... remember... remember. You were a princess, and you were going to marry a princess, no princes around, that's what you told me in that ridiculous accent, remember?," I say with conviction trying to joke your... you back. Throwing my hook into the depths of your eyes and trying to reel the love of my life back into shore. But all you give me is a hmm and a "Perdita, honey, aren't those women beautiful?," accompanied by a placating smile. Like you are trying to tell me "I love you, I'm sorry for not knowing, I'm sorry," but you just can't find the words. With that gesture of empathy after all these years finally, right here, right now, I realize. I can never in any universe love you less. As much as I want to despise you for leaving me first and making me watch. I can only ever love you more.

You; my rock, my grounding, my logic, my launch pad. The Hephaestion to my

Alexander, as you always said. We walk gently to our bedroom. A room full of books and knitting needles. Womb like fuchsia, walls whose cracks betray its age like ours do. I help you out of your socks, you help me out of mine. We perform all the rituals of elderly women, then we lie down. No longer in each other's arms for fear of pain that's always there these days. I sing you a song like I always do, and you are off... off to the place where not knowing, and not remembering is the norm. I let your breath guide me into relief. You may not know this, but you have always been my religion every breath you take, a prayer for my sanity. This is the last thing I think before I succumb to sleep.