cell tower in the desert

cell tower in the desert

fiction
edward w pritchard



repost

a wife misses her dead husband

fiction
edward w pritchard

Gone they are. My wings that you fixed thirty five years ago. They were strong while we soared together, always. It seems like a few hours since you fixed these wings; and now they broke; you gone just these few days, it seems like forever. I remember, I remember, you told me, you told me, we would always be together again, for eternity, wings strong then, you gone just these few days now, I remember, but it seems like you gone now forever already. I'll try, I try and wait.

Another thing, don't get mad. You told me watch the money, always. I try. But I so lonely. I call your name, always, always. I bought a cell tower out there in the desert. It's not that high, but the blinking light is bright, intensely white, so you can see it and know where to come back to me at later. It blinks every second, like I call your name now, every second. If I can't call your name every second, I try; look for the bright intense blinking white light out there where we used to go in the desert. I meet you there, I try and wait. When I don't know, it seems like forever already, since you left, listen and watch for me. I call your name.