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She let out a surprisingly loud sound that was part hiccup, part gasp.

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I looked at her. Suddenly the room seemed to be closing in on me. I got up and excused myself.

The bathroom door was at the back of the bar, and as I made my way toward it the floor seemed to shift and heave like a ship at sea, while the door itself receded, like a camera effect in a Hitchcock film. It was a sickening shade of high-gloss, nicotine-tinted powder blue, awash in bright fluorescent light. I braced myself, hands on the wall, head bowed in front of one of the urinals. I could feel cool air radiating off the freshly refilled urinal ice.

Because it's the little things that matter.

I threw up, the kind of throwing up you feel in your spine. The ice was no longer fresh. Just as I finished, the bouncer who had greeted me earlier pushed open the door to find me shouldered up to the urinal wall, right hand still sticky with stripper, and a thin strand of fresh vomit drool running off my lower lip. I shot him a slightly embarrassed and I am sure somewhat brain-damaged-looking smile. We need to get you out of here.

Is that going to be a problem? I stood up and arranged myself, pulling at my clothes like a proper English gentleman who had suddenly discovered himself unacceptably disheveled, tipped my head to him and made my way out the door. It had started to rain, and it felt good, cleansing. The cool drops on my face helped me sober up. Luckily I only lived a few blocks away, and arrived home without incident.

I opened the door to what looked like an interrupted crime scene. Half the living room set was gone.

The TV was there, but the stereo was gone. The dining room was empty except for the rug, which was crooked. I can picture you now, darling, with your rust colored hair predominating the smudge of dirt on the tip of your nose, and you are submissive to your thoughts with a far-away look in your eye. You are asking yourself questions, particularly at this time, which thousands of mothers and wives are asking themselves.

Put those thoughts out of your mind, darling, because I am in good health and feel like a million. I am not taking anything for granted because I know it is only human nature to do so. You are with me constantly, darling, because we are inseparable in mind and spirit, even if in reality we are seven thousand miles apart. This is a perfect night for dreaming. What a night, darling. It reminds me of August 15th when I proposed to the girl of my dreams. Though awkward it may be, I am trying to say that I love you.

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I love you more than seems humanly possible, but why do you have to haunt me all the time? Frank was here yesterday for about an hour and we had a regular old ladies gab-fest. You ought to see him. Tell Mom I will write her soon. In fact, tomorrow night.

Small, Nice Things to Do for Your Wife Every Day | Fatherly

I must leave you for tonight, dearest, but I will write tomorrow. That is a promise. Goodnight, sweetheart, and sweet dreams. It's meaning everything to me. It's needing to have you in my life, So much that I made you my wife. A beautiful romantic poem, William Those in love don't see love, they feel it. Hidden in their hearts are the secrets. Only they know what lights their fire, The mystic magic of Hand in hand we walk together, God's grace warms us from above.

It's him I thank each day I wake for blessing me with all your love. This poem says everything about my wife.

What Happened the Night of the Day My Wife Left Me

She's my sunshine, and most of all she is my life. I love her more each and every day. God put us together for a reason to live out our lives through In the shadow of your warm love I feel so safe and secure, And your soft, caring hands Urge me on to bravely endure. Menu Search Login Loving. Keep me logged in. Wife Poems Email Share. Featured Shared Story. Thanks By Michael A. Related Categories.