I awoke this morning to the hall lights burning-- tired and hot to the touch, laboring unrecognizably in the sun's sharp rays.
Your door was still open and the dog still had to pee. I let her in the backyard and turned down the switches, relieving the house of her duties since you didn't permit her to sleep.
The phone, on the other hand, was unrattled through the bright and silent night: no "goodnight"s or "I'll be home late"s or "don't wait up"s-- not even your four-AM friends voicing their pleas to an unanswering machine.
But I'm back in the kitchen as the eggs in the skillet sizzle and quiver. You linger on the third step as your friends are watching and waiting, but they drive away when you wave them to. Did you think you were just tired? Are your friends to blame? Would you have left a friend who couldn't make it up five steps and into his own home?
The toaster pops my mind back into focus and your presence is merely dulled, like sunlight by the thin veil of a lingering cumulus cloud that will never pass.
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