Glass Half Full
Started writing 2/6/18 but never finished...
The cold breeze whistled by in the dark under the moon, rustling the dead leaves. The whistle intensified, then died down. He shifted his body on the sofa in hopes of finding some rest, but his mind kept replaying her insincerity and distance from the recent weeks. Everything always seemed so perfect. A good job, a house, a beautiful wife and daughter. Life was good. It seemed as if nothing could or should be going wrong, but her attitude told another story. She hadn't touched him in at least 2 months. The pain in his groin intensified each day, but that wasn't what hurt the most. It was his pride. Pride in knowing he had things under control; knowing he could provide, love, support and be enough. The man inside wanted to feel needed. But she no longer needed him.
The wind intensified and slapped the window with a wild rage that brought with it hail that clanked against the house. The silhouette of the dead trees against the moonlit sky, hovered over the house hauntingly. He shivered. The power had been out most of the night and he had left his blanket in the room, where the wife lay sleeping. He'd rather take this cold than hers. Her cold was chilling, to the bone. He couldn't figure it out. Work all day, cook and clean, bring her flowers, try to make her laugh, take care of Zoe. Was he missing something? He just wanted to fix it, whatever it was.
At a loss, he stood up from the sofa and walked to the kitchen to pour himself a neat glass of Jameson. The garage was cold, but quiet, despite the storm raging outside, or perhaps it was just his mind shutting out the outside noise simply by being in his own space. Being left alone has a whole new meaning when all you are is left alone. He wasn't sure what the next move was, but this glass of goodness seemed to be the right move, right now. At least this glass was half full. He chuckled.
The cold breeze whistled by in the dark under the moon, rustling the dead leaves. The whistle intensified, then died down. He shifted his body on the sofa in hopes of finding some rest, but his mind kept replaying her insincerity and distance from the recent weeks. Everything always seemed so perfect. A good job, a house, a beautiful wife and daughter. Life was good. It seemed as if nothing could or should be going wrong, but her attitude told another story. She hadn't touched him in at least 2 months. The pain in his groin intensified each day, but that wasn't what hurt the most. It was his pride. Pride in knowing he had things under control; knowing he could provide, love, support and be enough. The man inside wanted to feel needed. But she no longer needed him.
The wind intensified and slapped the window with a wild rage that brought with it hail that clanked against the house. The silhouette of the dead trees against the moonlit sky, hovered over the house hauntingly. He shivered. The power had been out most of the night and he had left his blanket in the room, where the wife lay sleeping. He'd rather take this cold than hers. Her cold was chilling, to the bone. He couldn't figure it out. Work all day, cook and clean, bring her flowers, try to make her laugh, take care of Zoe. Was he missing something? He just wanted to fix it, whatever it was.
At a loss, he stood up from the sofa and walked to the kitchen to pour himself a neat glass of Jameson. The garage was cold, but quiet, despite the storm raging outside, or perhaps it was just his mind shutting out the outside noise simply by being in his own space. Being left alone has a whole new meaning when all you are is left alone. He wasn't sure what the next move was, but this glass of goodness seemed to be the right move, right now. At least this glass was half full. He chuckled.
