The Time Between

What if jealousy disappears, if distance doesn’t matter, if…

Image: IMdB — Elise McKenna as played by Susan French

It’s a Monday morning. The sun, if the horizon is to be believed, will rise momentarily smothered behind cloudy moisture.

Every day that begins this way leaves me longing for the sun to shine earlier. Daybreak doesn’t feel like daybreak without the sun’s appearance, just as love is less inspiring on cloudy days.

I can try all day today, again on Wednesday, and right through to Sunday and not come up with something original to say.

I fear I’m at a loss.

Must writers always have something original or important to say? Or can we be satisfied with saying old things in a new and vibrant way?

How many times can I tell how we have wept, laughed, and forgotten more secrets over time while still remembering the good times we shared?

But what if the love, like the writing, is no longer fresh, less vital, and inauthentic when the word authentic becomes cliché?

What if time disappears with the love we have known?

If there is bad news, I get it first from you without embellishment. You have brought balance into my life. You keep me straight, but not too straight. We have long silences that make our friendship stronger. You…