She sat down on the couch with pen and paper in hand. She wanted to write a poem. She hadn't written one in a while. Her muse had left her; her Klaus was gone.
I have no inspiration now,
Nor do I have my dear sweet Klaus.
How terrible, she thought. Barely rhymes. Horrible in general.
"What are you writing?" someone asked. She didn't respond. A tear dropped on to the paper. Why couldn't they just leave her alone?
I'd be the happiest girl alive,
If we made love just one last time.
Better, she thought. The couplet made her emotions go haywire. She couldn't decide whether to feel sad because he was gone or glad because they'd been married for three years.
In darkness I hold my pillow tight,
And wish it was you with all my might.
"Isadora," the person said firmly, "you're gonna have to speak sooner or later. Come on," the person sat down next to her. "Talk to me. I know it hurts but if you would speak to us, we could help. He was my brother, Izzy. It hurt me, too. I didn't ignore everyone who tried to comfort me. We only want to help."
Then leave me alone, she thought. "I just want him back," she said shakily, tears spilling from her eyes. They attacked the ink, blurring it beyond recognition. She ripped off the top page and started rewriting the couplets. Violet read them over her shoulder.
"Those are great, Isadora. I wish I was good with words."
It shakes me right down to the core,
Knowing you won't breathe anymore.
She thought of another but hesitated to write it with Violet reading over her shoulder. A moment later, it seemed the pen was moving of its own accord.
I'm sad 'cause you won't know the life
That's growing fast within your wife.
She heard Violet gasp softly. "Isadora…did Klaus know?"
She nodded. "We were thinking about buying the house next door. It would have been perfect for us." She wrapped her arms around her waist. "I guess there's no point in getting it now." Tears slid down her cheeks. She almost felt his lips on her face. If he were here, he would kiss her tears away.
She thought of the last time they'd spoken. He was walking out the door, going to the bookstore where he worked. She often came with him, but that day she hadn't felt like it.
"Are you sure?" he asked softly. He put his arms around her. "If it's not busy we can go in the back room and—"
"Klaus, as nice as that sounds," she laid her head on his chest, "I'm tired. I couldn't sleep last night and I feel like I'm going to vomit any minute now. The car ride would kill me."
They'd kissed and he'd left for work. She regretted her final words to him, knowing the car ride had killed him. At one point, she'd found herself wishing she had gone along and died with him.
Forgetting Violet, she got up without a word and walked upstairs to their bedroom. She got on her knees, pulling a cardboard box out from under the bed. It was filled with pictures and small photo albums and at least a dozen books filled with her poems. She looked through the books of verse (as he had called them) and found the one she was looking for. It was white and blue, labeled "The Days Between My Despair." She always labeled her poetry books with odd titles like that. Klaus had once told her she should sell it to a songwriter. She read through some of them, searching for a series of couplets Klaus had written soon after he proposed. It had always cheered her up when she was sad. She hoped it would work now.
Think of me, sweet, when you're sad.
Know my love you've always had.
And if your love I cease to earn,
Then I will love forever spurn.
And if by chance you should die,
Tears will fall from these green eyes.
And if by chance I should die,
Promise me that you will cry.
On June 18th it will be done
On that day, we will be one.
I love you, Izzy.
"I love you, too, Klaus," she whispered quietly to an empty room. She started to cry again as she realized tomorrow was their anniversary.