Leftover Lasagna

Published by - Quillkeepers Press

I place my half-eaten lasagna on the middle shelf beside the spoiled milk.
His recipe is perfectly contained in that clear dish.
However, the gap between the lid and the pasta is filled by my dying wish.
A wish that can’t be saved by purchasing bed sheets made of silk.

I curl up in a cocoon like a mulberry silkworm, lifeless between my sheets and tears.
If I keep saving my leftovers, maybe I can go back in time.
To the moment when the lasagna first pops out of the oven, overflowing with bubbling tomato sauce,
and I hear the timer chime.
To my past life when there was endless promise of a recipe that would last for years.

A lift of your fork to my mouth, we both giggle into each other’s eyes.
Your favorite wine glass gently presses to your nose as you pretend to be a sommelier.
A vision that circles in my head as I incessantly hit replay. 
My diary, filled with future promises, now shredded by lies.

This is just a pipe dream.
I can’t save my leftovers.
I can’t save them hoping to crossover.
Hoping to crossover to the other side when we were once an unstoppable team.

What am I thinking?

I throw the covers off my frail body and run to the fridge.
I peel open the condensation-filled container and allow my wish to dissipate into the air.
I can no longer care.
He won’t be there, but I must cross to the other side of the bridge.