Thanksgiving: Outro

Monday morning, I wake, emerge from complex and confounding dreams, and roll over to you for comfort, but find the other half of my bed is undisturbed, empty. You are gone. Then I remember, I remember that you left and that you are gone. I should try to fall back to sleep but I don't, still in my bed, staring out at the trees behind my house, waiting for the sun to rise. You are gone.