When He Stopped Listening

time stutters

The accident. Is hazy in my mind. Fragmented. Puzzle pieces missing. An incomplete picture remains. Distorted.

All I know is there was a car. An aqua blue one that crashed into the passenger side of my black one.

Then... Fog.

I recall smoky hospital scenes but wonder if I imagined them instead.

I know I remember him.

He was always there. As soon as I drifted back into consciousness all those times, he was there. His face worry- and horror-stricken.

Then I remember being back in the house with no memory whatsoever of my recovery or trip back home. Perhaps I suffered a brain injury. Somehow, I didn't much care.

I saw him creeping about the house, persistently in shock, barely going through the motions.

I suppose my accident took its toll on him as well.

Yet, his melancholy wore on, week after week.

He was distraught and I couldn't fathom why. I was back. Surely he'd have gotten over his shock at almost losing me by now?

I attempted to console him every moment that I could.

I felt worthless for nothing I did could shake his agony.

We both died a little then. Only I never knew how much until it became

Far...

Too...

Late.