With Eyes Closed or Open

Fifteen days stretch between us. His trip, then mine, then his. More than two weeks, the time has been slow and it has been fast. I remember his voice, the smell of his skin and the feel of the stubble that he grows when we are apart.

We are not the couple that speaks every day. Better in person, our phone calls are succinct. Texts are better, full of our code: love you mosts, breaking pickles, the Tchoucatabouffa. For me, missing is less an ache and more a transaction to be soldiered through til the end.

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At the veterinary hospital where I worked during school, in addition to walking dogs, giving shots, and cleaning cages, I had the job of developing x-rays. We did not have a dark room, only a smallish closet with a tub for bathing dogs and cats. Light off and door closed, this was a job done in total darkness.
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