The Dreamer’s Wife

The Dreamer’s Wife

Dressed in blue
Checkered blouse
And the usual white blazer
My wife came to me
From the hospital
Along Timawa Avenue.

She was an apparition
Amid the flaming flowers
That carpet the pavement
Of a university across
The hospital along
Timawa Avenue.

Her smile radiated
While we sat on a bench
As her eyes became
Streak-like, closed as if
She was dreaming
For a brief moment.

And I, embracing
The taciturnity that
Enveloped between us,
Muttered in a forlorn way:
“Let’s get something to eat.”
So we had burgers and fries.

I gazed at her, not wanting
This to end. The strands
Of her long black hair
That sways to the breeze’s
Whispers; her eyes that
Blink as if to chase the time.

“Are you sick?” my wife asked
Noticing my gaze nailed
Into the void. I nodded.
“I’ll take you back to the
Hospital.” I held her hand
As we left the restaurant.

We sauntered for a while
As my wife told me how
She revived a man who
Suffered from a heart attack
And thanked her for
Saving his life.

Then, we reached the point
And parted ways, she
To the hospital, while I
To Delgado Street.
I groped for words and
Searched her eyes.

When I said goodbye
She told me, “When I get
Home, I’ll cook dinner for us.
The kids will be home by five.”
But my wife never knew
There will never be dinner

There will never be kids.
For, when I open my eyes
Finding myself alone in bed
She will never be beside me.
And waking up from a dream
Is as good as dying.

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