Sunday Night

The ferry terminal is far behind me.

The car ride home full of me singing alone, too loudly.

To fill the silence left after I dropped you off.

You are on your way back to your home.

Miles from mine.

The signs of your presence meet me as I walk through the door to my apartment.

Reminders of you, of us, greet me.

The jumble of bed sheets that speak of our last few minutes in each other’s arms.

Your pants lie on the floor where they were tossed.

The shirt that smells of you resting on my pillow where you left it for me to find.

Knowing that tonight I won’t have you in my arms but this will give me something to hold to until the next weekend is here.

Your toothbrush in the bathroom will stay where it was left.

Waiting for you to return.

I will look at it every morning and night, a constant promise that you’ll be back.

My fridge, full of leftovers from our meals this weekend, that are your way of making sure I’m taken care of by you even when you aren’t here.

“I love you” spoken with plastic containers and aluminum foil.

Your eyeglasses rest on the bed side table.

Making me smile as I remember how you took them off and put them aside so I could more easily kiss you in bed last night.

Reminder and promises are what I have tonight.

They make me smile as I look forward to next weekend.

One thought on “Sunday Night

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