I miss my man.
He's been so sick.
I'm so used to listening for every cough, every stir, so used to running in to see what he needs.
And he got up to go to work today.
And I miss him.
Even though he was always in the lounge, my studio is quiet without him.
I miss tip-toeing in to watch him sleep and kiss his forehead.
Feel his temperature.
Remove his mugs of tea, long since cold.
Looking at his beautiful face.
He's my monster.
I can't wait until he gets home and I can listen to him breathe again.
In the meantime I'm trying to work on the Cowardly Lion.
But maybe I'll just go and read for a bit instead.