Dearest,
I missed you today. It was as if you went away on a long vacation and I'm waiting for you to get back. The honey do list is almost done, but there are still a few boxes that aren't unpacked after having moved into our new place. The thought of having to do more unpacking is slightly daunting.
Your son was kind of a stinker last night. He woke up two or three different times. It was actually sort of funny. He woke up between 330 and 4 and I got him a bottle- then he preceded to bang on the side rails of his crib. It reminded me of a jailed inmate rolling his mettle cup across his metal bars as if to say, "Wake up. Let me out of this cage." Obviously I fell back to sleep.
The entire day was sort of dream like. A cataract hue fogged my ability to concentrate. Through the fog I saw you silhouetted on the street corner, I saw you in the face of the woman who rode her bicycle past while I smoked a cigarette, I heard your voice in each phone call that I took at the office. After work I thought of you when I was putting gas in the car. I thought about how you'd have danced out of the car to my side and shoulder my side waiting patiently.
How is work? How is your time away? Anything interesting happen today? Have you seen the loads of people playing Pokemon Go?
It would be so nice to be together soon. Remember how much we laughed when we were laying in the sheets, bellies stacked like kitchen plates, and how you thought that to be so clever you almost peed in the bed? Your pillow misses the shallow imprint of your head, the sheets miss your scent, and the night misses your soft steady breath.
I wonder if, tonight, you'll be looking at the moon with me.
Love,
Adam
