365 days until I get writers block again.

I sit and I write with a sad sort of confidence because I am back to what I know.

I am wistful and longing again.

Aching. And lonely.

For love.

You see... knowing that I will be unsatisfied- sexually and emotionally- robbed of an intimacy that my heart bleeds without... I will be able to find that person I used to be.

Words bleed again, but this time for a different reason.

This time it’s to keep busy until he comes home.

To make sure he knows that I am still here.

And that I am lacking.