I still sleep near the window. The one he used to climb through to get to me. I had hoped by now that I’d break the habit of wanting to hear his gentle tapping against the frame, careful not to startle me from sleep. I had hoped for a lot. I wish I could figure out what happened. Where is my closure? Without meaning to I hope that door is still open, that I won’t need closure because he’ll walk through it, straight to me, into my arms. He’ll tell me he loves me, that I belong to him, that everything in him is mine. Mine.

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