Ambient silence, a room pregnant with questions, her silence,
the room frozen.
That cold rejection with a refusal of touch, a week in purgatory,
beads of sweat rolling off my body, what had I done?
She had disappeared one Sunday. To where? She claimed work.
A marriage of fifteen years and two children. I was naive.
A quick call to work, nope not there.
The silent treatment after she returned, that week I mentioned.
From sun to sun no warmth, a winter of confusion with winds and
drifts of longing.
I found a note from an ex while sorting materials, well hidden. Her first, that’s where she went.
I showed that secret and asked her, “Don’t you love me anymore?”
Startled, she bolted and ran to our bedroom.
As I sat stewing in a pit of depression, I felt her return with an arm around me.
She said trembling, “Come with me to bed.”
“I don’t feel like it now,” I declared frigidly.
She stifled a small sob knowing that I knew. She retired.
Minutes hung in the air. Night oppressed me as I went to her side and looked down
on her as she seemed lost in dreaming.
I sighed and readied for bed and laid beside her in Arctic silence my back to her.
Suddenly, the warmth of an arm on me.
She blurted, “I love you. I’ll always love you.”
I kissed her as she sobbed. I didn’t mention the recent winter of discontent.
Although we both knew, we never talked about it.