I wrap myself in a tshirt worn by him, his fragrance tickling my senses as I curl up on the bed. This shirt that's cut for a 6'7' body is too large for me and the fabric folds itself between my legs. I roll over, stretching a hand across the bed, feeling cold where the warmth of his body should be.
Night time is the hardest. Sometimes I wonder if he's ever coming home though I know he is. It's just that he's been gone so very, very long. I scrunch a pillow up under my head and lay staring at the ceiling, wishing the night away.I can hear the wind rattling the outside of the house and unseen objects are blown up against the structure. I rarely question living this far from town but then the solidarity creeps up and the emptiness I feel makes me restless. I try to outrun the night but I can't hide from it's inky chill.
I toss and turn watching shadows dance across the wall, a beam of light reflected from somewhere outside. The t.v. screen flashes a DishTV message at me but I ignore it.
I press his shirt against my nose, close my eyes and breathe deeply. It's the nearest thing I have to his touch and I revel in it...for the moment. I can almost hear the soft thudding of his heart, his slow, steady breathing, feel the heat from his flesh. I swim in a sea of warm memories.
Soon. Soon he will be home.
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