Posted on February 12, 2014
I woke up on December 31st struggling to find the strength to get out of bed. Just like all of my days in recent memory. The dreams (or nightmares) hadn’t stopped plaguing me. It seemed that every night my subconscious mind was reaching into the abyss of my memories to find the reason for my current predicament. And all that had accomplished was laying out how terrible of a husband I had been.
Everyday, I called Jasmine to plead my case. All I ever got was the answering machine.
“This is Jazz. You know what to do. At the beep, give me all the important deets. I’ll catch you later.”
I started to make a habit out of saying the words with her. And I’d imagine that she was standing in front of me, with the crooked lipped smirk I’d become accustomed to. Seeing the happy version of her made it easier to spill all of the skeletons.