I thought I saw your car pull up.
Then remembered it's sitting idly in the laneway covered in snow.
The phone rang and your name displayed. I thought you were in traffic calling to tell me how your shift went to pass the time while you waited. Instead you're talking to me from a place I haven't seen and I can't imagine what you look like in your surroundings.
I thought I smelled your hair when I rolled over onto your pillow this morning, but it was just a smell, and not connected to the rest of your warm and sleeping body.
I emailed you from work today as if I'd come home and finish telling you the story in our kitchen. I'd tell it over your music as I made dinner and you pretended to be interested. But rather, I sent one and was disappointed that you hadn't read it, you weren't up to date with my goings on like you would be ifyou were here, so I retold it over the phone.
I thought you'd come running down the stairs when I opened the door at your parent's place, right behind the dogs, but their sloppy kisses and dog hugs will have to suffice (though they really don't compare).
I went to snuggle into the hollow between your neck and shoulder while watching a movie on our couch, but instead was left with empty space and an uncomfortable pillow in your place.
I thought I'd be excited for weekends and mornings and nights, but I can only keep so busy and drink so much wine to make the time pass by until those times are spent with you.
If this were a run, I'd be starting to get tired and breathing heavy. I'd lookup ahead at how far there is to go and get discouraged, knowing how hard I have to work and push myself. But like a run, I know if I keep a rhythm moving, one foot ahead of the other, belly breathing in and out, and looking only at the sidewalk in front of me, it won't seem so bad once I get there.