Only now while I write this note, do I realize I treated you unfairly. It is November 28 2011 the moon is peering behind dark clouds, the night sky never seemed darker...
I found a photograph of the two of us taken in front of Tritons Statue in Virginia Beach. A seagull is cawing as he passes behind, but the sounds of his cry faded away. As I gaze at the photograph, I wonder what meaning I should put in the smile I will give you when I die.
I can promise to give it to you, but... On second thought, you would be better off not taking it. It would only add to the trouble you bear. I remember saying something similar that day...
That day as we lay on the bed in the hotel, one of my hands covering your breast, I told you I couldn't leave you anything at death beyond a smile. "Tell me," I said " what kind of smile would you like?"
My death bed smile is like a rubber pouch... No matter what i pack inside, it fits...
