twenty-five days

Dear J,

It has been twenty-five days since I have seen you. This is the longest we have been apart since we met, August 20th 2004.

The second longest was twenty-one days in September 2005. There was an amazing thunder storm that month. The clouds rolled in slowly and turned pink in the sunset. All the neighbors came out of their houses and marveled at it. As the sun set, an incredible rainbow appeared before the storm that rocked the house that night. I made a picture of that cloud. I will remember it forever.

Now, it has been raining for four days. The news man said there were 4800 lightening strikes yesterday alone. There is no sun, so there has been no rainbow to soften the blows.

While you have been gone, I have gone about my business. I work at my job. I work on my art. I am fairly prolific. I cook meals. I answer emails and phone calls. I clean the house. I can't help feeling the whole time, however, that I am waiting.

After meeting you, I finally discovered the ultimate way to sleep, a position in which my body is completely comfortable. I lie one my stomach, my left knee bent in the crook of your knee, and my arm around you and holding you against me. I have always loved to sleep on my stomach, but weight or allergies or age have made it difficult to breath comfortably in the last ten or so years. With my arm around you, however, I breath comfortably, and I am warm throughout the night. This seems to be the best position for you too-- if I remove my arm, you begin to snore and be fitful. This is what works for us. It's how we both breath through the night.

I haven't figured out how to sleep alone again. Nothing is comfortable except lying on my belly. I toss and turn. I go from the left to the right side of the bed. The house shakes in the storms, and the weight of the blankets needed to fend off the cold crushes me.

I wanted to you know I realized something. I can live without you. I just can't breath without you. Come home soon.

K