5.10.18
I linger past your doorstep, tempted to stop and knock, or better yet, slip a note underneath.
But then I remember that you're not in there to answer, not there to receive my lipstick prints soaked onto an index card.
You're gone, your room is emptied out.
#105 is just #105 now.
And I won't see for another three months.
Then, my heart begins to hurt a little bit as I remember this and recognize the distance between us.
103 miles feels like too much space.
And August feels like a lifetime away.
"See you in August," you whispered into the top of my hair, "I'll miss you."
I bit my lip, "I'll miss you, too."
Less than 24 hours and I'm missing you more than I ever thought I could.
But then I remember that you're not in there to answer, not there to receive my lipstick prints soaked onto an index card.
You're gone, your room is emptied out.
#105 is just #105 now.
And I won't see for another three months.
Then, my heart begins to hurt a little bit as I remember this and recognize the distance between us.
103 miles feels like too much space.
And August feels like a lifetime away.
"See you in August," you whispered into the top of my hair, "I'll miss you."
I bit my lip, "I'll miss you, too."
Less than 24 hours and I'm missing you more than I ever thought I could.
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