Missing Her . . .

The house is quiet. Just me and Ben, the dog. You'd think Ben would make enough noise that the house would have it's normal sounds, but it's just not right. She's in a hotel room for the weekend. Her once a month routine that I'll never get used to. I miss the scruff of her foot on the floor. The sound of her breathing. The fall of foot on the stairs. I miss her being here. And I postpone climbing the stairs to climb into our bed, where I'll miss her warmth. It's as if part of me didn't make it home from work. Ben even senses it. He looks at me from time to time as if to say, well, where is she? Let's go get her. Sunday won't be soon enough . . .