Mrs.D

It is five a.m. Through twilight that has not yet arrived, I take your strong hands in mine as my hand idles on the gear.
I also steal little glimpses. You look out the window. Think about your day ahead. You look at me.
Your hand still in mine.
I drop you off at the airport and look on till I see you dissolving behind glass doors- you with your bag of clothes and laptop, secretly hoping to recreate the peck and the buh bye.
I sit in my pink reindeer pyjamas and stare into the space that you so easily occupied just minutes ago.
And I just sit in the car, windows rolled up.
On most days after I drop you off, I place my hands on my lap and fall asleep right there, in the airport parking lot.
On others, I sit there for long and then drive back home and fall asleep on the couch, where there is room for just one.
I wake up with the sunlight filtering through the living room.
It is only nine a.m. I have an entire day ahead of me till I can go back to dreams and other such yearnings.
Things of no consequence follow. The cookie jar gets refilled. Veggies get cut, to fill empty boxes.
And then I sit at the dining table, staring at the basket of oranges there. Not eat. Not touch. Just stare. At the skin and the smell that fills ones senses.
I go on to look at the search engine screen, smell your shampoo bottle, bury my face in your pillow, run the washing machine with just water and soap, count pieces of clothing.
And go back to the couch, to wonder how to dream.