I tried talking. That’s what they said to do. Talk, talk as if you were here beside me. Really here, not gone. Not lying there hooked up to machines. Machines that keep your body alive while your mind is who knows where.
I tried talking. But the words wouldn’t come. It was as natural as talking to the wall in a room full of busy people.
So I thought I’d read something. I think I got that idea from a movie. Reading to the unconscious is good. Something new for both of us. I started with Dickens. A Tale of Two Cities. I know you’d planned on reading that one day, it seemed like a good choice at first. The best of time. The worst of times.
This is just the worst of times. I couldn’t focus, my concentration is shot.
I switched to poetry. On a whim I chose Goblin Market. Christina Rossetti.
‘We must not talk to goblin men, we must not buy their fruits…’
I read it through for you. I read it through again.
Now I cannot stop. Evening after evening I read.
‘Come buy our orchard fruits. Come buy. Come buy.’