He’s been gone 105 days now, we’ve just over 20 left. And so I wait. Anxiously every day, just a little closer to our reunion. The nights feel especially long lately. They drag on and on, dark and lonely. My days, just an in between, something to count.
Our infrequent phone calls have changed a bit, instead of the repetitive proclamations of love and longing they’ve turned to plans for once we’re together again. Originally I thought this would cheer me but instead it has just made everything linger and his absence feel stronger.
So, still, I wait. It’ll be soon now, we’ll touch again, and this will all feel minuscule looking back. So, I’ll wait.