Walking it off
You’ve walked for hours wishing the rain could cleanse your feelings. Raindrops play a soft tattoo on the hood of the North Face. White noise of tyres on soaked road crescendos as a car passes taking the diminishing sound with it in concert with fading rear lights, until a distant bend steals them away. You cuss the job that’s brought so much comfort, which now feels so empty. He’s at home, but tomorrow he’ll be gone . . . again. Every time he takes a sliver of love with him that never returns. Empty days wear it away like wind-blown sand on granite. You look up and let the rain wash the tears. With a shuddering sigh you turn for home anticipating the same reaction: Where have you been, Cariño? This can’t go on. You’d best see Doc James and get some tablets. You OK, knowing that isn’t what you need and soon you will have to tell him why you walk the streets at night.