Obsession Part 4

The chill of morning, children yawning, I am tired, the blush of dawning has me feeling ill at ease, my spirit sags, I barely reach the second floor. 'When will you return? Is Paris so much more than you have here?' is my unanswered question. I drag my heels to breakfast, listless as a lazy dog, and nibble toast, my countenance as pallid as a ghost. A letter would be welcomed. I shall miss you; there, I've said it. I am your friend, are you not mine? Tenuous and strained, two casual acquaintances who share so little time, we brush elbows, like strangers passing on a platform, sharing sidelong glances, afraid to say hello. I watch you as you go.