I think I keep waiting for your return.
Maybe you’re at the store. Maybe you even left town for a couple of weeks, as strange as that would be.
Maybe you’re off riding your bike…riding, riding…back streets, dirt roads, through the park, enjoying yourself on this beautiful 76° day.
Maybe you’re at Costco roaming the aisles, checking out all the prices of the new things you could possibly buy.
Maybe you’re not. Maybe you’re really not coming back.
Maybe this wounded part of my heart and illogical part of my brain are going to have to grasp the fact that you’re not out there somewhere, you never will be coming back.
