Crossing the River of My Own Tears

By D. Cameron Lawrence

It was just before midnight on a clear June night. Once again, I could not sleep. I got up, pulled a sweater over my nightshirt, put on a pair of jeans then nudged my feet into a pair of sandals. As my husband, John, slept, I slipped out the front door and walked quickly down the sidewalk to the end of the street. As the last streetlamp fell away, my heart beat faster. I’m still a little afraid of the dark.

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