1:39

I was driving, trying to figure out how to see you. I'm not really sure if we were here or there, but I knew the layout. It reminded me of  south St Paul near where my Grandma used to live.  I was driving, trying to figure out how to see you, when you appeared, it was 7 AM and for some reason you were out running in the dull morning light. 

Headed for the coffee shop, near as I could tell. That made sense, and I drove by trying to figure out how to meet you there. 

When I did, I remember being confused in the coffee shop, as to why they were making me buy a pound of coffee and further more why its cost was so exorbitant. My total bill was $45 dollars or so, and you had already paid, so I was getting nervous that you would leave before I had the opportunity to really talk. 

When I left the shop, my heart ached, I had lost you. I circled around and the area, it was still dark and gloomy out. When I was ready to give up, I turned back to head to my car and you were there under a great big pine tree, the branches of which covered you from the outside world, or at least from those who weren't seeking.

Lying down, outstretched drinking coffee, there was something immediately noticeable, you hadn't slept, maybe we had already discussed this, but it wasn't the kind of "I didn't get any sleep last night" but rather the "I have been intentionally not sleeping for days" and it bothered me, but I was desperate. 

I asked, and you said you had been up all night in the workshop. 

Yes, making art, excited, impassioned, you and your husband to be had spent all night self righteous and creative. It was hard to talk to you in this circumstance, because my mind had judged the situation and found it...neglectful. 

Its rare that you aren't super sensitive when you haven't slept, and this was no different. A slip of the tongue and I would be pounced on, or rather left.

Neglectful like your skinny frame,your exhausted body, your mind that can't keep a thought still. Conversations are hard without the ability to maintain focus, so we jump from topic to topic.

Your art?  what is it?

And she suddenly remembers a memory that had never existed (and probably doesn't) making pottery as a child with her father.  But in this story your father has passed, so I ask, "do you miss him?"  an unfathomable question in times past, and even in this line, you brush it off, but for a moment, I saw something like caring in your vision of him. I could tell you would leave me soon, I wasn't sure how to stop it. I was trying my best to avoid all the hard topics, but your instability was written in your wandering eyes. And as if to run, before you could, my eyes decided to open.