Here it is again.
Why does it always feel the same?
I spend golden piles of minutes contemplating the dream of when it might finally happen.
I hate to kill my hope and bright optimism, but each Friday that passes like this...
Well, I don't know if possibility is my friend anymore.
The companionship that eludes me every week.
It is easier and softer this way.
I can walk around naked. I can leave dishes in the sink.
I can listen to music loudly, read my books without interruption.
I can dance around or just turn everything off and live in the quiet for a while.
Isn't it apropos that the last time I saw your face was a Friday night?
Remnants of relationships always come in strange forms.
With you, I carry them around by a nicely conditioned leather handle.
Tonight, I found another castaway.
Just when I was getting comfortable in my old coat of solitude again.
there
it
was
Your t-shirt.
Ray started singing "You are the best thing" to me from the other room as I folded his image into a neat, cotton square.
I'd gladly return it in exchange for you back.
Happy Friday Night.
