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Free Writing - Take 97

Feels like months since I've written here. A 3am run to the bathroom and the need to stay connected. Out from under warm sheets, tiptoe across the floor, turning back to see the tiniest bits of light reflecting in the cat's eyes. Come back, sip the now cold coffee and find out a singer is dead. Feels like I just shut off Amy and there's another tragedy. Thoughts rewind, fast forward and pause. Shooting, climate, war, babies, animals, life and death. Scroll the feed and traffic and work complaints. Hundreds of thousands, checking in dumpsters for meals, yet twenty minutes in a warm waiting room deserves our sympathy? I smile, not at the thought of poverty or anguish, but that tiny ray starts to shine. "Did you just call me an asshole?" I giggle now, like I did earlier. It'll never happen the way I imagine it, because I know my life...the hug, squeeze turning into something more, will never exist. Walking back from that cold bathroom floor, back into bed, wrapping my arms around her, just once, maybe more, maybe not dying alone, each and every night. It's 5am now, the cat yawns and turns from the light, like much of my hope. 5am, counting, wondering if it'll be three, four, five hours or more, until good morning, and asking of my evening. "Fine." Knowing neither is ever really fine. I turn over and imagine a different life. One I'll never have and all of me, every but if me, hopes I never do, because it would mean things didn't work out for someone else. 5:05 now. That much closer to my hello. This is what matters and I'm OK with that. Sleep? Today is Friday. The day that at times feels like the end of a summer romance. I'm already looking forward to Monday, just to smile, maybe dream about that squeeze.

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