”I always find myself, on an exhaustive Friday night, missing you."
Scars. Secrets. Waiting for the tide.
”I always find myself, on an exhaustive Friday night, missing you. Normally, I might withhold the thought but I decided to fling it in to the universe." No answer.
“I miss you,” I typed, again, on a late Friday night, fighting sleep. No answer.
On secrets. “1408” was her iPhone password. She told me. I never looked.
Not once, it was not difficult not t…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to The Ampersand Journal & to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.