On A Friday Afternoon

Dear You,

I love this watch from you because it speaks to me. It whispers softly, telling me the time left until I see you next. I’m always waiting to hear the time left until I see you next. The face is beautiful, ivory and gold, but nothing rivals yours when you smile at me – you’re the sun, Babe.

The hands shine with elegant ostentation, set eternally to rise and fall as they count the hours and the minutes. But they’ll never wrap around my waste. These hands won’t reach out to brush hair from my eyes, or slip into mine, fingers entwined.

It is not the business of a watch to count miles, but there are 1,279 – a distance that is not incomprehensible, but overwhelming for a timepiece that can only count to 12, and for a girl whose world doesn’t quite add up when you aren’t here.

But, I love this watch from you because it speaks to me. It whispers softly, telling me the time left until I see you next – and I cannot wait to see you next month.

I love this watch. Happy Anniversary, Babe. I love you.

And I hope you like the bookends.

Sincerely,

Me

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