I awoke at dawn, as always, even though his alarm obviously didn’t go off. I wasn’t hungry, so I did my morning walk through the wisps of the dying fog on getting up. Breakfast could wait.
The fields, ever my friends, called my name and welcomed me as I forged a path through the dew-damp weeds. The wet cold of my shoes kept me cleanly in the present, forcing me to take in the splendors of the new day. The distant trees, still a mirage only glimpsed as the sun burned away the mist, for some reason reminded me of him. My heart beat faster, as my brain told me lies.
“He is out there, just over the next little hill, behind that little splash of woods. He’s there. Hurry, you can catch up,” my brain seemed to say, against all logic.
I quickened my pace to try to reach that figment, but, of course, to no avail. There was nothing to catch up to, and deep down, in my heart of hearts, I knew this to be true.
After a half of an hour I circled back and the house appeared, some beams of sunlight finally reaching it. But even in its golden glory, looking across the empty pasture at its dark windows, I knew the house was equally empty.
As was my heart.
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