My wife

Each time he says it, the bond gets severed a little more. Like a death from a thousand cuts, at first it seems superficial and then suddenly you understand how much damage has been done.  He has cast off the black button in favor of a silver rose pin. He points to it and asks me what I think. I don't understand what I am supposed to think, so I foolishly ask him what it means. He shakes his head in reproach and tells me that it is to honor his wife. Emphasis stressed. Just as I was thinking of how she turned her back on me in my one and only dream about her. Just in case I was thinking otherwise. Just in case. He sets my expectations. Nothing has changed. Not really. I am still there serving the purpose I have always served. Seeing everything. Serving everyone. His wife. Not my mother. I understand. I have always understood.

Without her, he is with her. She is the only thing that seems real to him. Her absence proves his presence, because he echoes her. It is not a contradiction. What is memory, after all? Waltzing without moving. Singing without opening your mouth. It is his only hope. His redemption. That he can stay in those memories, fastened only by a sterling silver rose.