It is Tuesday.

Sleeping late. Yellow highlighter bleeding through the pages of my notebook.

Struggles with my hair. Lazying around. Surfing the web.

A sick boyfriend. A stressed mother. Nothing I can do to cure either one. Hugs are my only remedy.

Songs about flying. A mistake at work last night uncovered. My sister says something off hand about being tired of life. That sleep is the closest she can get to death. The silence of my heart breaking.

The beginning of a possible friendship. Studying things about photography in lieu of my new camera.

The smell of cheesecake. Waiting.

You are very sick. And very far from me. I cannot be there to comfort you. My vague words of sympathy are dust in the wind. Fleeting.

Day 2 of not seeing you. I am missing a part of myself. Pizza for dinner with bad company. I hide in the corner then slip back upstairs.

I hate the thought of you sick. And alone. It makes me worry.

It is comforting just to know you are there. To read your words and laugh at your jokes. You fall silent. Probably asleep. I hope it is curing sleep. I’m tired too but I dare not drift off, for fear you will wake and I won’t be there.

It’s Tuesday and I love you.