The best books don’t have a happy ending you said.
Even after you cut out the last wine soaked pages
of Anna Karenina it still was a good book so we both thought,
misery reads well and your voice was a good voice
for reading about sadness.
That night our child was born.
I heard the rain when you read a poem to me
and the sound, your timbre, my eyes closed, meant
life, an ordinary day was lying ahead, not ending soon.
You made it special. This is what matters so I know now.
For this we began the journey together.
I think she jumped in front of a train.