It's 2am and there's no good reason for anyone to be knocking on my door. Granted, I'm not asleep but I should be, as usual. And I'm not expecting anyone.
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
I'm crying before my fingers can find the alarm clock in the darkness.
The tears are an every morning ritual, so I've at least gotten to the point that I can control them. I can't keep them from coming- there's too much to cry clean for that- but I've learned to cry them softly so that my deep, heaving sobs don't wake up the rest of the house or send me into the throes of a panic attack.
I lay my head back on my pillow and cry, hot, sticky tears sliding back into my hair. I reach for my phone. Radio silence. The tears come harder, faster.
Never a word from his side of the world.