Love Letter, II


I was looking forward to you leaving. More than a little bit. It’s not about the absence of you of course, but the absence of anyone. It’s no secret that I relish holing up at home for days at a time – reading, creating, cooking, without a thought of the outside world. And after a period of intense work and socialization, I was especially looking forward to this quiet week alone. I planned my time greedily. I will watch Gossip Girl and actually put together the oft-discussed but never executed print wall! I will make a dentist appointment! I will clean up loose ends! I will catch up at work! I will be a hyper-productive, creative machine!

And the first day, oh it is delicious. A full Saturday to myself. Doing just what I want, pulling things together, taking photos, drinking wine and watching Dexter from the bathtub. Crawling into bed, I miss you and lay a pillow where you should be. But on the other hand, no one hogs the covers.

Sunday, I wake up and make a to-do list. I’m in the car on the way to the grocery store and I get to play that song on repeat, the one you really hate but only works when played really, really loud. No one rolls their eyes and secretly sings along. I check almost everything off and around nine o’clock I realize everything on TV is wretched and I don’t feel like coding and it’s just too quiet to read. Bodhi keeps running to the door and crying, like he always does when you’re late getting home.

I can’t sleep because it’s too hot and then cold and everything feels wrong.

I work late on Monday because there’s no reason not to. I come home in the dark and instead of seeing you through the front window, singing to yourself while you start dinner, all the lights are off. I put you on speakerphone while I cook and everywhere I look are the spaces that you fill.

On Tuesday, I write this and don’t post it because my god how pathetic you’ve only been gone for three days and it is so silly to be counting down the hours until you come home. I will post it after more time has passed. Of course then I’d have to delete this part.

Love, Sierra