A Keepsake

I gazed across the room at the picture on the small table, below the EKG and heart rate monitor.

It was in a silver frame, and she had been packing it around from house to house for almost 60 years now. We were so young, that umbrella was such a deep red, and Paris was the most romantic city in the world.

We spent that whole summer cycling all over Europe, and that picture—which had cost me forty dollars—was the only thing we brought home besides memories.

And Emily, who born nine months later.

Now, as my better half lay there, frail and shrunken on the hospital bed, I felt a tear course down my old, wrinkled cheek. I took her hand and kissed it. I saw the barest hint of a smile play across her lips, as the jumping line on the little green screen slowed and faded to flat.

I love you my dear. Save me a place.

(c) 2016 - dustygrein