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Today is our anniversary. On this day, sixty three years ago, I married you, Jessica Anne Hanaby.
Jess.
Jessie.
Laying here, I can see the setting sun light up the clothes that you wore on our wedding day. You had a fancy french word for that outfit, though I can’t remember it any more.
Funny how time plays with my memories. I can’t remember that word, but I can remember that blouse and that day clear as a bell. Now, they are all that I have left of you. Those clothes and those memories. The rest are gone. Some to the church clothes drive. Some to the long years in between.
I still love you Jess. I miss you and it hurts me something terrible. The evening is the worst. That's when the house is quiet and I have time to think about you.
Every day, I still get up,I make my meals, and I keep the house clean. Not that I care anymore, but because you would have wanted me to carry on.
You are still… my beloved.
This is beautiful and evocative… the sadness that is there, straightforwardly revealed, is transformed by a great and timeless love.
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