Looking through my old journals....

I found my old journals the other day, and came across this interesting entry:

"I can turn, and look at him, but it does me no good.
He sits in a chair, his head and shoulders in shadow, i cannot see his face. I see his arms, elbows on the arms of the chair, and his hands in front of him, fingertips touching. The hands I love.
He is silent, watching.
I hear the ticking of the clock on the dresser, and nothing more. I wonder how long I have been strapped to this bed, have I slept? I do not remember. What is going to happen? what comes next? Anticipation keeps a constant vigil, lightly tapdancing on my nerves. He knows this, and expected this, and I hate to let him see this. But he knows."
I remember writing that, I remember the experience that lead me to writing that... I miss that!!!