Each night when I slide into bed, or with each “good morning” text, or when I sit on the yellow couch facing the vacant red chair— I miss him.
But then I hear the giggles, watch her sign “more,” or say “oh-oh” when something falls before declaring she’s “all done.” I am glad to be here.
Family game nights, Independence Day cookouts, and splash days in the hot July sun; I wouldn’t want to miss those.
My days are mostly full. I'm at my desk until five, and three days a week I step out to dance and catch up with the ladies.
I’ve got books to read, and shows to binge with bits of writing now and then. I’ve taken myself out to eat and enjoyed solo movie dates
He’s coming to see me this week; I’m counting down the days. I guess this gives us both something To look forward to; anticipation Is not a bad thing.
I know I’m where I need to be, And this is also true for him. But every now and then, Like on a quiet Sunday afternoon, I’m wishing things were just a little different.
