“Might as well have a cup of coffee” I concede, slothing to the kitchen. Nestling into the recliner, I swaddle with a homemade crocheted blanket, and take a moment to give thanks for the hands that crafted it, wondering if she too was courting the night when she made it. My infatuation for the stillness of these wee hours grows more intense all the time, the rhythmic humming of the refrigerator compressor, it’s only contender.
The first jolts of caffeine make their way to the old think tank, and true to its utilitarian nature, it prods me to check the hour: 2:21 a.m. Damnedest thing! February 21, Eric’s birthday. Sighing through a chuckle, I speak to the night “Okay, okay”, while opening the laptop.
He reminds me often, that life is too short to waste another day, squaloring precious moments. “Write Carlette, write” I sense him saying. And I do, I write, remembering him, paying credence to the realization that he is still here with me in spirit.
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