I’m sitting here and wondering if I should send you a message.
Maybe I will.
How about two messages or wait, two and a half?
Perhaps I’ll ask you banal things like ‘how is the weather?’ or ‘what kind of flowers
do you find there?’
Maybe I’ll ask you about the kind of people you’ve met.
I can’t wait to tell you all the things that have happened here…
About the little puppy, the silly cat and my now dead plant and that I must work on my gardening skills.
This waiting game isn’t really for me and I’m getting impatient with each passing second.
Come home soon,
Even summer isn’t bright enough without you.