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I wake up alone in my cold, darkened room. I see the daylight trying to make its way around the edges of the curtain, but the shade is drawn and I cannot tell if it’s sunny or overcast.

I close my eyes again and watch the onslaught of thoughts, first from a distance, not unlike a tsunami, the ungodly wave about to crash ashore; then it makes contact, and I feel myself getting swept off, rushed to places I don’t want to go. I breathe. And again. I know this will pass, and soon it does, albeit leaving some sediment in its wake. I am back alone in my bed.

It’s been ages since I woke up alone on a Saturday. Hamilton looks at me with his plastic eyes from his perch atop the dresser.

“What?”

I used to say good morning to him, but that was a lifetime ago…

I miss another in my bed as I linger another few moments in my cold solitude. Saturday mornings are supposed to be different: filled with tenderness, warmth, love, and the infinite, electrifying joy of having the one I love right there by my side…

Decidedly now, I throw off the covers. Let the day begin.

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