Most afternoons, I would lay on the couch with Frank. We'd have nowhere to be, nothing to do and nothing to say. It was complete and utter bliss. Sometimes I would stroke his hair and he'd look up at me and seeing those eyes made my heart flutter and I'd lean down to kiss him. He'd whisper "I love you" and I would return the sentiment.
But today was different because Frank wasn't with me, because last night, when I kicked him out, he took off and I couldn't stop him. I knew I couldn't. I let him go and I didn't chase after him. Maybe it was stupid of me to kick him out. In fact, it WAS stupid of me to kick him out. I loved him but he was married and I had kids and I was married and had a daughter. I was so torn because I loved both my wife and him so dearly. I told him to leave so he did. He didn't fight me, he just left and the silence that was left behind haunted me.
Yesterday, just yesterday, he came to me and he needed me and I pushed him away.
It wasn't until this morning that I got the phone call. I wish I could change what happened but it was too late. So unlike all afternoons, I wasn't spending my time with Frank, I was spending it alone, regretting our last conversation. I was planning his wake because...
Frank crashed into a tree.
Frank was dead.
And it was all because of me.
