I received your telegram today. Said you were off in some distant land drinking coffee with the ants. And I began pouring my thoughts like secrets to a dust covered book; thoughts of what a shame it is that I'm not stealing glances with you over our midnight snacks, or you not buttoning up the back of my dress. Thoughts of how it must feel not having anybody at all. And I remember falling in love with you the third Saturday of January, and the fight we had in the park during April. And all of our other faded memories I've placed in your old shoe boxes, along with our Polaroid’s, and weather stained mittens. I gathered roses this morning hoping for the day you return, saw a yellow bird, and wondered if sometimes, you actually miss me.
The spring has never been more pleasant. The clock forgets to tick, and I the same. You said you were safe, and promised to be home soon.