A/N: It's been awhile friends! I've recently become re-invested in fanfiction writing and decided to publish some previously unpublished works. This is a poem inspired by the wonderful and classic police drama Monk, one of my all-time favorite shows and my first foray into police procedurals and crime dramas. Enjoy!
(P.S. Sorry if you are a follower and were spammed with multiple updates; it's been so long I forgot how formatting works on here and I had to submit/delete it three times!)
She was just going out for cough medicine.
Cough medicine.
That's it.
Cough medicine for Ambrose,
because he was sick.
Ambrose was sick.
She grabbed her purse, her coat, her keys,
came into the living room and kissed me goodbye.
Kissed me
goodbye.
"Won't be long," she said, and she smiled.
I'll never see that smile again.
I said, "All right," and,
"I love you."
I love you.
And she left.
And I'll never see her again.
Leland called me while I was reading.
Poetry.
She loved poetry.
Thus from the world,
unseen,
unknown…
"Trudy… Monk, i-it's Trudy…"
I dropped the phone,
forgot my coat.
I had to get there.
Somehow.
Somehow.
But it was already too late.
When we went on walks, we would hold hands.
I'd tap the light posts or the bars of the fence
around the park.
Sometimes we'd have to separate and
our hands would break apart.
She would smile at me.
"Bread and butter," she'd say.
Bread and butter.
Bread and butter.
Her last words to the paramedic were "Bread and butter."
She grabbed his hand,
blood pooling on her lips,
whispered it in his ear.
For me.
But I wasn't there.
She lived for twenty minutes after the bomb.
The car bomb.
She lived for twenty minutes.
She suffered for
twenty
agonizing
minutes.
And I wasn't there.
I wasn't there.
We'll only be apart a little, my love,
But we'll always find our way back to each other.
Bread and butter.
That's what it means.
Always.
My love.
Always, my love.
Thus
unlamented
let me die.
A/N: Thanks for reading! The idea behind this is, during Adrian's downward spiral after Trudy's death, he would just keep repeating the horrible moments over and over in his head, blaming himself. The italicized lines are from a poem by Alexander Pope titled "Ode on Solitude."