a letter to love

Dear Love,

I woke up this morning from a dream, sensing a sleeping body next to me. I reached out to pull you closer. But, of course, my hands came up empty. And right then, I felt so intensely lonely — the expanse of my bed like the pre-Columbian ends of the earth.

So, I got up. I made tea and went out to the porch to let the sun kiss my cheeks. My forehead. The tip of my nose. I must have left the burner on — I could hear the kettle whistling for me. I showered, waiting for the cell phone to beep, for the apartment to fill with friends. You won’t be with them this time.

I went back to the sun porch, where I sat in one of those black Urban Outfitter chairs, chain-smoking memories of former loves. One right after the other. And I couldn’t help but smile.

In a minute, when I’m done being angry at it, I’ll go back in and make the bed with fresh sheets. I suppose it’s better to wake up alone from time to time than never to have woken up at all.

Thanks for the memories,

H