A window, late at night

The moment of departure. A shadowy figure in front of the mirror, the camera's slow shutter speed capturing the room's low lamplight across his back. Those nights she stayed behind in the room, alone, would pierce and delight in equal measure. This is not how it should be. The man she loved so much, needed so badly by her side and in her arms tonight, was leaving yet again.

She would often go to the window, late at night, knowing he was out there somewhere, not very far away. A mile or two at most. The Al, visible from the window, dazzled and hummed. Very few vehicles by now, the acid yellow-green from rows of streetlights standing like sentinels, curved away into the night. Behind her, the taunting emptiness of a king size bed. Would they ever lie together through the night again? Coppelia was warmed to know he was returning in the morning, yet chilled with the loneliness of his absence. This was not how it should be, this felt all wrong. When the ache to just hold him, wake next to him, became unbearable Coppelia distracted herself with books, with wine, with attempts at quiet prayer of thankfulness. She searched hard within herself to reach a gratitude for what she still had, to take the place of this misery for what she felt she was slowly losing. ..