The Sound of Silence

She stands by the rain-streaked window.  Her gaze slowly shifts inwards, pulling her attention away from the world outside with what seems like great effort to look at me.  She doesn't speak.

I sit on the edge of the bed. I have nothing to say to her.  My mouth is dry, my throat is hoarse.  Everything I could think to say I've already said, a dozen times.  I'm not angry anymore, I'm not even sad.  I'm just... tired.

Her eyes are mournful, painfully so.  They'd move me to tears if I had any left to give.  They always do.  But not today, today I'm spent.  There is nothing left to give, nothing with which to rail against the injustices of the world.

Her eyes slide heavily off of me, and are pulled again to the window.  I know what she's looking at.  I know she won't leave until I see it again.  I don't want to see it.  I don't want to be here. But... here I am.  Why am I here?

Because I can't let go.  I'd rather be... whatever this is... than move on.  But, maybe, maybe not today.  Today I'm too tired.  I can't do this dance today.

Tomorrow, maybe.

Wordlessly, I stand.  She doesn't react, her gaze fixed outwards.  I stride slowly to the window, watching her.  Not looking out.  Maybe I won't have to.  But I make it to the window and she's still there.

I sigh.

I rest my body against the window frame, and turn to look out the wet window.

And there it is.  The remains of the tree with the tire swing.  The tree we planted twenty years ago.

The tree she hit when she lost control of the car, killing herself and our two boys.

I don't have to look to know she's gone.  The house thunders with the sound of silence, and I discover I do have tears left.