“Hey John, have I told you lately I love you?”

 “Not lately, no.”

“Well I do.’

“Right back at you.”

“Hey Bette, have I told you lately I love you?”

“Not lately, no.”

“Well I do”

“Right back at you.”

The words were spoken many times over the course of our relationship. Now on any given day since Bette has passed away when I ask “Hey Bette, have I told you lately I love you?”, the response is not forthcoming so I say her lines. I don’t mind having to fill in for her and the time will come when I will hear her reply.

It has been nearly six months since Bette passed away and living in her absence has been numbing, minimally paralyzing and incredibly enervating.

The one thing I look forward to is sleep only in that it affords Bette and I the opportunity to steal away and live in the shadows.

I know there is a place in the deep recesses of my mind where she visits me.

We engage in stolen kisses when Simon Peter isn’t looking.

We talk about her new life and she insists on my eyes smiling  through the tears.

Bette teases me with cryptic talk of signs to come.

She demands I see her leaving as inevitable and there was nothing I could do.

The conversations we engage in are sprinkled with little hints on making a quality go of it.

On her last visit she feigned a curtsey to me and asked if I would court her spirit. I said, as I kissed her cheek, it would be my honor.

At night I go to sleep and wait.

I wait for my reason to go on living.

Love To You All