How long must I wait for you? Days turn into weeks and weeks into months. Months seem like years and years, like an eternity. The clock over my fireplace has stopped ticking, perhaps time waits for you as I have. Our bedroom has become my cell. There is a tree outside our window. Its shadow dances to the sounds of my weeping through the blinds forming bar-like shapes on the walls over our bed. I could hear it’s branches tapping the glass, the wind whispering your name through the leaves. Through my nightmares I answer, “My love? Is that you? Have you returned?”.
