Neither one of us want to say it out loud, especially to each other. The consequences could be devastating. It can't be. This is day four.
She was gone for just a few hours, having dinner with her father and his twenty-something girlfriend. I want her to call. When we said goodbye in the subway, I worried that it would be our last. There were no indication that it would be, but still, there is always a chance that any goodbye would be the last.
One more phone call means to live another day. It's the long drag that the addict takes knowing that it is the only way to scratch this itch. Swallow the essence, hold it in until your lungs cry out, then enjoy the slow release. For a few seconds there is satisfaction, peace.
She called. Everything is fine, she wishes she could be with me now, but she needs to rest. We'll meet for breakfast. Exhale.
Tomorrow will be another day. We will look into each other's eyes and scream silently how we really feel about each other. Whatever we do, just don't say it.
