Sleeping Peaceful

I can see the moon from our bed, tonight. It is laden heavily and lies low beneath the gathering clouds. The dark towns peer from their perch, heaped high up on the horizon. And your soft, even breath is warm on my hair.

But despite the heavy stillness, neither of us sleeps. Behind the mask of night, we strive for words that will mend this deep tear between us.

I barely remember the reason behind the fight, now. Not that we need a reason, anymore. But tonight – tonight was different. When you came home late – again – I snapped. Can you blame me? Well, maybe you can, but others would understand. But it doesn’t matter. Your ‘pride’ prevents you from apologizing. So instead we fought, and we yelled, and we threatened. You suggested that we have a separation. Blinded by anger, I countered with divorce. Then you took a breath, and we agreed to sleep on it.

So now we lie together on this cold bed, each of us alone, and search for words not untrue and not unkind. Maybe we should exchange apologies, and be done with it. Maybe I ought to tell you just how I feel. But we won’t – I won’t. The wind will scatter the clouds while we are asleep, and when we wake, we’ll ‘forget’ our problems, and move one. The wind doesn’t destroy the clouds. It just moves them.

I’ve decided now, what I’ll do. I’ll put my pride aside, and tell you how I feel. "Husband," I say, "I can’t take this anymore. You’re never home at night." You don’t respond, so I continue. "It isn’t fair to me. Please, tell me what’s going on." Your silence worries and angers me. I turn over, shaking in my rage. I finally find the courage to open up, and you ignore me. Then I look at you, with your eyes gently closed, and a wisp of brown hair falling over your face. You’re asleep, and we still can’t talk in bed.

Tomorrow you’ll leave, or maybe I will, and we’ll never have another chance. I brush the hair from your face, careful not to wake you. You’re so peaceful when you sleep.