Apr 19
A5. Three Days
Monday: He doesn’t come. Perhaps overslept. Perhaps ill. I don’t think about it further.
Tuesday: Still not. I look toward the door more often, pause at every step that sounds like him.
Wednesday: Still nothing. Was the wrong coffee too much? Did my mistake break the lightness between us?
I rinse his espresso cup, though I don’t need it. Set it aside. As if presence could be arranged.
Thursday, 11 a.m. The door. Him.
I realize I have been holding my breath.
“Like always?” As if nothing had happened.
“Like always.”
I don’t ask where he was. I let him stay.
written with Miran & Emil Lichtrand
