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Deep breath. I write with the haunting tune from David Nevue on Evlogia spinning around me. I should be cleaning. I should be. But, here I am. Here I AM is with me as I press on.
In the cloak of early morning, we made our way, fingers threaded across the seats. I drank deeply of the smell of his skin, the only scent he wears, the lines on his face in the flickers of street light, memorizing all that would be gone from my senses for weeks.
The babies we both had held in our arms, rocked, danced to sleep for over a year slept peacefully in bed while he leaned over to touch their heads with gentle lips. The babies only I had the privilege to hold within danced their pas de deux. All were oblivious to his leaving.
We passed through the gate. My heart dropped into my stomach. I wondered if they felt it hit hard. I walked around to the driver's seat. We had already decided. No hard good-byes there in the dark drop off. I nuzzled close for only a moment, one sweet moment, got in the car, and drove away as he carried his burden into the building. He now belonged to the government for nine weeks. Really for four years.
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