It's Monday.

Gray skies, cold rain,
     the kind of day
     built for naps,
           for warmth,
           for curling up

        or for missing her.

Because her presence
    is warmth itself,
    the quiet glow

    that makes even rainy days feel sunlit.

Didn't see her this weekend,
      didn't hear her voice.

I felt it in the quiet,
  felt it in the rain—
  tapping gently against windows,

  as if trying to fill the silence.

Today, she'd better be careful.

I hope she moves softly,
  doesn't let the world
          wear her down.

Hope she steals a moment,
                a breath,
        an hour of sleep…

        something to keep her bright eyes awake—
        for this night I hope we get to share.

Because the rain
        won't matter,
        the cold
        won't matter,

        if tonight ends
        with her,
        with me,

        and a moment we refuse to let slip away.