Sometimes they come at night.

They creep in at the corners.

The girls are asleep and as I sit, I feel their presence.

Reminders of a time long since past.

The glance across that king bed and I can almost imagine him breathing next to me.

Memories so clear like water on a still lake.

I see the reflection of the people we were.

I see that girl I thought I was.

The ghosts then come and sit with me awhile.

They use to threaten me, taunt me with all I lost, now they simply sit like old friends.

They stay for a bit as I ponder long forgotten moments;

the chinese dinners in front of the TV in that small DC townhouse,

the nights trading quotes from the latest books we’d been reading when we had all the time in the world to read books,

and all of those evenings talking in hushed tones praying that those babies were finally down for the night.

And today when sleep overcomes me I can often feel a faint smile traced on my lips.

The days of longing  for people past are now replaced with appreciation for all that was.