Rachel stood in front of her bedroom window gazing out at the black sky, seeing nothing. Her hand perched at the base of her neck emitting sounds that some would call a sigh. She considered them more like grunts of pent up frustration. That’s it. She’s frustrated. Bitterly frustrated. She loved him still. She’d lost track of how many passed had past since they’d last spoken but the love remained, just as passionate and all-consuming as it had been when they were together.

She longed for him. Perhaps she’d been reading too many romance novels lately or perhaps it was her latest bout with a Jane Austen movie marathon but she wanted him. She wanted to hold his face between the palms of her hands and kiss him soundly. Lose herself in eyes so deep they could pass for wells. She missed his laugh, the way he laughed. Belly-deep, soul-filled, joy-riddled. It was infectious. Thinking of it now reminded her that she hadn’t really laughed in days. Instead for the fifth night in a row she stood at her bedroom window, dressed in his old tee-shirt, staring out at a black, starless, sky thinking how much she and the sky had in common.

Restless, she turned back to look at the rumpled sheets and discarded comforter debating whether she should give it another try. Rolling her eyes she positioned herself comfortably on the windowsill. Pursed to make it six sleepless nights in a row.

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