Five Minutes to Miss You

Why is it that when all I want is a break from the noise, from the whining, and from the tattling, the house is too quiet after you leave? Why do your little shoes in the front hallway, that I am so tired of tripping over, make me want to kiss your toes? Why do the books you've left lying all over the house reproach me with all the stories I've rushed to finish, or worse, refused to even read before bed? Even your sticky plates and the crumbs you spilled on the floor cause my throat to constrict.

This is not our first time apart, but I've always been the one to leave. Now, for the first time, I am the one left behind in a house filled with traces of you. And I don't think I like it. It's too lonely.

I had all kinds of lovely plans for this much-anticipated evening to myself, but I didn't know how empty the house would feel once you were gone.

I didn't know it would only take five minutes to miss you.