After

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After Gunther…what really matters?

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I love you.

With everything that’s in me… though I don’t have a lot left, anymore.

Not after…not after…

After I got shot in the garage—and my whole life ended.

You held me in your arms… yesterday, when I broke down and cried. I was so embarrassed. Me, the big, tough cop. Crying like a baby, because I just couldn’t take any more pain.

Hey, don’t get me wrong, the physical therapist is great, she’s understanding…she’s sensitive.

But walking… moving… breathing…it all hurt so damned much. It reminded me of what I’ll never be able to do again.

I hate Gunther. I hate him for what he took from me.

He took my ability to take everything you could give me…and to give it back.

To bend, to stretch, to wrap my legs around you…to accept all of you inside me…that’s what I want.

More than anything.

Why are you still here?

Is love enough?

But you’re still here…holding my hand, making me work…

Making plans.

Making love to me with your words,

Making love to me with your eyes…

Oh God, I want to quit, but you won’t let me.

Tomorrow, then.

We’ll dance again, tomorrow.  And maybe I’ll walk…all the way down the hall to PT without having to stop to catch my breath.

Maybe you can kiss me longer.

Tomorrow.

THE END