suddenly.
it is two in the morning and i am suddenly struck with the insatiable need for a summer evening with you. in my imagination we curl up on my bed and turn the lights off, listen to the fan and our combined breathing and the crescendo of the crickets who have always been there. we don’t speak, until i tell you about last summer, the night you came home and called me from below my window, saying ‘why are you still awake?’ and ‘your light is always on when i come home.’ i tell you how your name on the caller ID was a surprise when it shouldn’t have been.
we are a long way from this small wish.
