I’m lonely here, without you.
I like to picture you sitting next to me on the veranda of this little cafe. Laughing and sharing anecdotes of silly sweet things our men have said or done, reading our own books and interrupting the other to read aloud a particular bit we find funny or inspiring, sharing our food and sighing with delight at the delicious first sip of an Aussie latte (because they are the best there is)…
And then I blink and look around and the chairs next to me are empty and the voices I am hearing are only the gossip of the old, pearl-laden ladies at the table next to me.
This salad is lonely with only one fork in it.
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