blurry headlights

I had lunch today at “our” place. You know, the little sushi restaurant we used to eat at almost every single day - once upon a time. Of course, it wasn’t the same. The front patio was closed because of the rain so I sat inside in a dimly lit corner booth. I ordered the usual assortment of rolls we’d always order along with a pitcher of hot sake. All around me sat giggling couples. I felt out of place. Not so much because I was there alone but because I was so sad. Maybe it was the rain.

You know I used to love the rain. Whenever it thundered outside I remember how we would spend the entire day underneath your down comforter making love over and over and over again. We’d lie there, glistening in sweat, gazing into each other’s eyes. You’d trace the shadows on my body with your index finger as we both listened to the cascading storm drum against your bedroom window.

As I sat there today in our restaurant absently poking at my food I thought I heard you say my name. I looked up and of course you weren’t there. The lights dimmed for a split-second as a heavy peal of thunder lumbered across the sad, gray sky.

I am hollow.