Fridays

Fridays always bring a sense of sadness. There is a tear that lingers in my mind, a weight that won’t lift. The day before, the unanswered phone call. A picture of breakfast and my body frozen in stillness, tense with disbelief. One call that marked a before and an after.

Fridays always carry the same feeling—the drive, three hours of intense crying. The silence in the car. The picture on my phone. The sad songs.

Fridays always take me back: walking down the hall, running through the hospital. The cables, the beeps, the tubes, the red light on her finger.

Time passes, and she grows stronger in my mind. Not that I want to forget—because I cherish every single tear as much as I cherished every single laugh.

Wilfred Marrero