“An hour to go…”
Sixty minutes left. One more hour until I get to feel the tips of his finger trail across my arm.
3,600 seconds, give or take, until I see the corner of his mouth involuntarily grin because he’s happy to see me.
One twenty-fourth of a day until I can run my hands through his hair…silently letting him know how much I missed him while he was gone.
I wouldn’t say it out loud, he was only gone for two days. But I felt his absence in the morning when there was just one solitary coffee cup on the table.
I missed him as I fell into lonely slumber.
One hour. One hour and I get to look at him again. Look at him and smile, simply because he’s there.