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  • Morning: I wake to silence, a low rumble coming from the street outside as a garbage truck passes by my window, wheels connecting to asphalt on an otherwise empty street. The sun hasn't yet chased away the dark, but this is typical for this time of year. I can hear the wind, gathering speed as it rounds the corner between the house and the neighbour's driveway. The sound morphs as something (a piece of garbage?) is sent rolling across the sidewalk. I go to pull the covers tighter around me and notice how the streetlight outside my window shines through the wicker headboard and makes a speckled pattern on my arm. It reminds me of soft light streaming in through the window on a summer morning. I savour the moment briefly as I pretend that there's a different world outside.

    I roll over and reach for my phone, checking my messages.

    Nothing.

    My heart sinks.

    Afternoon: The soft hum of the computer fan; the click-clacking of the keyboard in the next office; the whoosh of printer paper gathering in the output tray; muffled conversations across the floor. My hands are tired. My eyes are half closed. I am surrounded by a sea of white noise, fluorescent lighting and the mundane trappings of a desk job. I think about you to pass the time in between the hours, and a secret smile creeps into the corners of my mouth. My heart beats a little bit faster as I anticipate seeing you, being with you once again.

    I don't hear from you.

    Night: the quiet stillness of my bedroom. Lights out. Soft, squishy carpet between my toes. I stand in the center of my room and look out through the sheer curtains at the street below. I take a few steps forward and kneel at the window, resting my arms on the sill and my cheek on my folded hands. I contemplate the moon. I know that you, too, are underneath the same sky, although you are far away from me. My breath comes in slow, quiet waves. I close my eyes and imagine you next to me. I can smell you, feel you so vividly.

    The silence taunts me, now.

    I miss you.
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