Within every song, there is a memory.

A lyric that tickles the recesses of your mind.

A tune lifting the corners of your lips,

causing a hum to vibrate from your idle throat.

These are the melodies from our youth

and our forty-nine years of marriage.

 

Play. Repeat.

I tease your recall, hoping for one more dance.

Your wrinkled hand taps out the beat on the blanket.

“Do you remember?” I ask.

Faded brown eyes blink and water.

“I think I do.”

 

You shift and sway, standing up.

I steady your balance.

Trembling, we lean into each other.

The timbre of your heart matches mine.

Your hospital gown scratches my cheek.

Feet planted, we rock to the rhythm.

 

“We danced to this.” You say.

I fight the tears as I clutch you tighter.

“Yes. Yes, we did.” I smile and look up.

“Thank you.” You kiss my forehead and sigh. 

“I remember.” 

“Me, too.”

 

Song ended. You lie back down. Winded.

I play another one.

Your smile slips as you fall into a peaceful sleep.

For hours, I sit there, by your side,

listening to our songs. Praying.

For one more memory.

For one more dance.