One pair of shoes

There is one pair of shoes outside my door tonight.

From two days ago, there were two beds, two sets of towels, two piles of messy clothes, shared shampoo and toothpaste and ginger snaps and apples. There were two heads propped up on pillows laughing and talking until 4 am; there were discussions about serious things like love and life and less serious things like boys and the SNL version of American politics. There was me, sick and unable to move on Thanksgiving day and there was you, laying with me, talking with me, getting juice and crackers for me. There was me being carried by you. All things shared by your girlfriends.

I waved goodbye from the platform of the train station this morning. It was raining. It always rains when I say goodbye. Maybe God just knows. Goodbyes are always hard, and as much as I'd like to think that they get easier they don't. When a friend comes to visit, it's this beautiful insertion. But God's grace sustains and I make it to now. Life restarts and work resumes.

There is one pair of shoes outside my room tonight, and I smiled as I noticed. Thank you for this weekend Janice.