Dear Journal

       I sat still as could be waiting in mourning, wasting away at the window till the early morning, sobbing and sighing loud exclamations of my grief; without any words of comfort to bring me sweet relief. I was alone and my beloved would never come again. She could not greet me nor rise to meet me for being racked with what appeared to be the rigid rigamortis of death. I coughed.

       There she lay in a silken soft shimmering negligee that covered next to nothing. I was flushed with shame and sadness, so I covered the bare portions of her flesh. Stricken with a sick desire I rushed to her side, pulled the sheet from her cold body, laid my head against her chest, covered myself with the sheets and listened. I know not what I expected, maybe in my madness I hoped her heart would start again. Clutching tightly and listening as closely as humanly possible I waited, hours passed and I waited.

       My cheeks were red with my grief. My collar soaked with salty tears and sweat. My breaths were ragged with congestion so I tried to dislodge the flem that had building in my chest with a fierce cough. I felt weak and flushed with fever but in my fervent behavior, I continued with little concern.

       I waited and listened. When her chest refused to yield the sounds I desired, I cautiously pressed my lips to her mouth, parted her cold closed lips with my tongue, and began to breath. Her ******* rose and fell in line with the rhythm of my own breathing. Up and down, up and down, up and down I repeated again and again. I was transfixed upon the hypnotically hopeful motion of breathing, so much so that I lost another hour in what was almost a meditative trance.

       When my senses were restored and the madness had passed, I untangled myself from the intricate mess that I had become. In the midst of sharing breath I had forgotten my pain, but once I stopped the tears returned with a terrible vengeance. My sobs transformed into a violent fit of coughing and it took a couple of minutes to regain some sense of composure.

      I studied the motionless shell of my beloved. Her pallor had become even lighter. Her face was untainted by any imperfection. She appeared to be only a shade or two away from marble white, possibly porcelain. If only I could play Pygmalion and restore the flush of life to my beloved. Instead I sat in the shadowy corner of our closet crying.
Then I was struck with strangeness. My dear beloved could not be seen in such a manner. No male eyes but mine should know the exquisiteness of her nearly naked body. This was my sight and mine alone. For years we had owned each other, promising our flesh and spirit to one another. I shuffled through her things to find the perfect piece of clothing. Then I dressed her with an almost religious fervor. Slowly and carefully I buttoned each buttoned, pulled her dress up and straighten her cloths to perfection; till there were no wrinkles to be found. I wondered, had I taken this much care for her while she still lived, would she have survived. I cough lightly and felt a slight speck of flem fly from my mouth.  

      I studied her again and found myself shocked. Somehow I had missed a speck of blood. I carefully stripped her down and proceeded to wash her skin gently with a warm cloth until I was certain she perfectly clean. Then I dressed her again. I touch her hand and strangely it felt warm. A shiver of hope coursed through my body and I entertained the idea that she might rise once more.

      I would gladly trade places with her. In my wretched state of sorrow I almost missed the twitch of her tiny pinky. I had also failed to realized how affected by this ordeal I had been. I sat down to scribe this experience in my journal in hopes that writing would help my frayed nerves.

       She stirs as I write this, but I have become acutely aware of a painful exhaustion in my being. With every stroke the quill becomes heavier and heavier, each line is harder to write then the one before. I will not rush her recovery. I need to rest my head on the desk.  I will leave her a note in my journal.

My dear you frightened me I thought you were dead. However you seem to be waking from whatever happened. I am very weary; let me rest a bit and when I awake…..