Nine

A woman on the tv in gloves and fleece and a boa has the same color hair as she does. A too-fake blonde with too-real black and white mixed in.

My boyfriend calls and tells me he loves me and I wish that's all she wanted.

The lobby played 92.9 and I stopped for long enough to hear a listener call in and say, "she's been through so much for me. I wouldn't blame her if she gave up all hope, but she lives life to the fullest, and I love her for it."

A little girl from my church texts me and I can't bare to respond, but cringe more knowing she will ask her on Sunday where I am. What could she possibly say?

I start to cry seeing that she is number 11 on my recent recipients list for text messages. 11 out of 20. My life has never, ever, ever, been that way.

I miss something and I don't know what it is. Maybe it's checking the mail, or the smell of the house, or how she would buy junk food when I had been gone for long periods of time, and it'd be sitting out for me. The way I knew that was her way of saying she'd missed me. Maybe it is just thinking of her alone, when all her defenses are dropped, and she is as vulnerable as I am in this moment. Maybe she's, though. There's no way for me to know.