There on his recently deceased wife’s side was that which he hunted. The .45 automatic lay there, the magazine removed, and the one round meant for...him that night rested atop of a piece of paper. Slowly, he walked to the side of the bed, and then sank to his knees as a silent tear trailed down his cheek. The paper was one he had buried with his wife just that morning. He put the paper in her hands, as they lay crossed over her heart, on it, a poem he found from an unknown author. I Miss You I. Dust motes float lazily through a beam of sunlight coming through a window high up on the wall.I pull Josh behind a shelf sagging under the weight of hundreds of unread masterpieces, their musty smell overwhelming in the small room. I kiss him again as my hands work his belt buckle.“Jesus, Katie are you sure?” he mumbles against my mouth as I begin to work on the button of his pants. I can tell by the way his fingers are tangled in my hair, the sharpness of his breath, that sure or not, he’s. More

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