my bedroom window is wide open and the smell of fresh rain is drifting in, filling the room with a dewy glow. the candle in the windowsill burns vanilla and tobacco, warm and homey.
my bed is empty without you. my blue sheets always fall off the edges and i know that when you arrive in july, it’ll drive you crazy. i pull my dusty pink duvet up to my chin and breathe the scents in deeply. i hold tight to the stuffed horse you sent me, drenched in your lovely perfume. i pet her matted fur and she reminds me that the miles mean nothing.
summer’s humidity seeps into my room and i try to wave away the muggy air. my cat leaps up onto my bed and lays his head where yours should be. i sigh and rub his ears. he means well, but nothing can replace the way your body feels next to mine.
july cannot come soon enough. june has been dragging on and it’s as though there are deadweights holding it back. every day feels like a mountain i have to conquer to get to you. it’s worth the climb.
i want experience this post rain haze with you in my arms, but it’s not time for that yet. we both have lessons to learn before we can be together again, and i’m prepared to scale any wall in the way of that- of us.
my bedroom window is wide open and the smell of the rain drifts in, still sharp and distinct. my candle glows, the only light in the room as the evening crawls to a close. the crickets are beginning to chirp in the field outside my window. i bury my face under my duvet, just like you do. your horse is nuzzling into my neck and i drift off to sleep.
another day closer to you.