It’s happening again.
The sun is starting to set and evening is coming.
I find myself wanting to look forward to him coming home, wanting to share an evening with someone, to feel loved, close to someone.
I start thinking that maybe I won’t feel prickly when he comes home. That maybe dinner won’t be a time of tension. Maybe this evening will be pleasant, stress-free. That maybe somehow we’ll connect. Maybe something will be different this time.
Maybe everything will be o.k. and I won’t feel insane.