I look at the pill bottle in my hands, reading the label. It says take twice daily, on it; a warning against deathly overdoses. The pill bottle is a recent addition-it hadn’t existed back when Katherine was alive. I don’t like the reminder I get whenever I see it.

Today, it reminds me of the day I married her. The ceremony was short, and sweet, but it was nice.; it was enough that I was married to her. To us, anything else was extra.

Her eyes had been beautiful that day, with glistening tears in them. I asked her about those tears later-she told me that they were from joy, and I believed her. I had almost cried myself.

The pill bottles rattle in my hand, and uncomfortable reminder. I wonder how many one would have to take to die, before the memory swallows me up again.

I always looked into her eyes, after that night, when I could manage it. I liked seeing their intelligence, and kindness, and love. And I liked their beauty-always greatest when there were tears in her eyes. I’m afraid most of them weren’t from happiness. Still, we were happy together. We were in love.

Now she’s gone, and i’m alone in the bathroom with a pill bottle that would kill you if you took too much. It doesn’t seem fair that I’ve lost her, somehow. Less fair yet that I have to be reminded twice daily.

I can still see her eyes, though, in my mind, filled with tears. Sometimes I like to think that they’re filled with joy, knowing that I’m alright. Tonight I think they’re filled with sorrow, knowing that we are parted.

I pour a single pill into my palm, the second of the day, and swallow it; then I got to bed, ready to repeat the procedure tomorrow.