30 Home

The night is night, as it should be, lidless moon and forever distant stars. I take my time. My reward is generous. Breathe in. A thousand thoughts at the doorstep of my mind. Its 7:13, and I think on you, whoever you are, intent with no distraction. I start to talk to no one present, rehearsing for a time that is not pretend. I would have liked to hear you laugh as I told you about my day, exaggerating as always, giving more details than necessary. Tonight though, is not that time, because you are a house not yet built, a blanket not yet unfolded. Mile one and two have become mile thirty, and I am almost home, but we will talk again next time.