And then I forgot about love and the lack thereof, and became passionately engaged with the movement of the clouds over my head, shot through with sunlight. As the day dropped off into the horizon, I watched them form and reform again and again. I willed time to stop moving. I could not face the empty house, the unwashed dishes, the unmade bed and your absence. Condensation slides down the window on Sunday morning, while off in the distance church bells ring.
Steam heat sizzles inside the pipes.
My head reels. It is extraordinary, this morning is extraordinary. My eyes are bloodshot. My head reels but a small prayer is answered. You are off to visit your parents for a week.