It is a Tuesday afternoon in May on our peaceful street. We are making love in my bedroom, while I have one eye on you and the other on the time. I know this romantic encounter is temporary, and in a few minutes, I’ll gaze out the window, watching you walk home to resume your bright and cheery life. You greet your kids at the bus stop, embracing your husband when he steps through the door as if nothing had changed. And in my dark house, I look at the clock, laboring out of bed as if having a hangover.
Photo by Plato Terentev on Pexels. Originally posted in Friday Flash Fiction.