Memento Mori
Enshrouded in a deep, impenetrable darkness, I awaken from a troubled sleep. My eyes are red, and sore from grieving the passing of our relationship. I had told myself that I felt suffocated, needed deliverance, and that forbidden encounter, underneath a silver penny moon was initially my release.
However, as we lay together – entwined within the black silk, I was driven insane by the beating heart of guilt, thudding underneath the floorboards. I was compelled to tell my wife that our relationship had been on life support, and now it was terminal.
That look in her eyes, the hurt, the bereavement. I think we both died a little that day.
Now I feel intense regret, as my eyes struggle to focus. Again I feel silk, but now it is wrapped around me. It’s so quiet here, so very cold. I find a book of matches, and light one. I am wearing my wedding suit. Through sulfurous smoke, lit by the oxygen sapping flame, something is pinned to the black silk of the coffin lid. A photograph of my wife and I, on the happiest day of our lives. It is our memento mori.
