He drove home in the afternoon; leaving behind chilly, rainy skies; looking forward to warmer blue.
He drove home after a week, drove home anxious be home, to sleep again in his own bed with his own pillow under his own blanket. But she had come down the day before to see her mother, and rather than stay the extra day, he hopped into his car and drove home on Saturday afternoon.
She stood in the driveway under grey skies smiling and waving goodbye until tomorrow. And he drove off with her standing there shivering.
After all, there were trees to plant and succulents to pot. And there was a dog to walk and a garden to water. And after all, he would be able to sleep in his own bed, propped up on a pillow reading a book with the dog curled up against his thigh.
… with her 200 miles away.
And now it was late. He was home in bed, under his covers, reading his book. He had finished several chapters and was getting sleepy. He marked the page for tomorrow, switched off the light, pulled up the covers and rolled over in his otherwise empty bed.
… with her 200 miles away.