Crossing Over

I awoke before the blue hour when the sky was still black with the feeling that you had died. Something was amiss. I thought that this must be the day that I grapple with the loss of your existence...and mine. Did your ghost sit on the edge of my bed as I slept, running the frayed edge of my quilt between your thumb and forefinger? Were you here to gently whisper into my consciousness the news of your passing, or maybe this feeling was the ghost of my past and that piece of me that was you finally detaching and drifting off into the ether of dreams that never were. No. Your death will not come that easily and will blindside me in broad daylight. This will not be the day I collapse into a heap on the rug. This will not be the day I kneel shaking my fists at the heavens, capsized into the wet darkness of grief.