The room was dark and through the half open blinds above the open window the night sky could be seen.  Not the black of a winter sky, but the deep, dark, frazzled blue of the summer.  The only sound was soft sweep of the ceiling fan’s rotation and the noise of the peepers.  It was odd how no matter where she had lived, the peeping of those tiny little frogs that adorn the wetlands could always be heard at some point in time. An occasional car would speed by, the headlights illuminating the shadows for a moment until the noise of tires on pavement faded away, replaced by the hush of the night and the nocturnal creatures as they slowly emerged from daytime hiding. It was a night to think.  A warm summer wind blew through the room causing the stack of papers on the chair next to her bed to ruffle. She moved her hand out to cover them hoping that they wouldn’t be scattered in the night, as she had no intention of keeping her hand there while she slept, if she slept. The wind from the fan blew gently upon her face. 

Yes. That was it! The wind. A thing like no other, so fleeting and an emotion in and of itself. She sat there upon the knitted afghan on her bed and thought. She could picture his face, all their faces and she knew that she had no reason for sadness.  With so many chances and opportunities to fulfill her dreams, with so many unfulfilled hopes, and with no reason for her existence to cease anytime soon, why was she sad? Not sad exactly to say, sadness was more of a material thing, when something has been broken blatantly or when some event had occurred. No, it was more of a deep longing. For what? She could not place. It was as though although in mind, the glass was half full, in heart it was empty. It was like a want, a need, a desire for something, for another piece of the puzzle called life.  A piece that it seemed she was not meant to find. A car sped up on the road outside, and the trees rustled as the wind moved through them. 

Like this moved though her thoughts.  Never a permanent fixture, but a fleeting image of light, a feeling of fulfillment that no name could be placed upon. Last night it had been like this, never fully leaving and never staying long.  She had lain there in bed, the radio softly playing some anonymous piece of music, weaving in and out between her waking and dreaming thoughts.   She liked to think it wasn’t him, that she wasn’t some woman waiting for a guy, because she wasn’t, in her mind.  Her heart and mind were constantly in disagreement or working against each other so passionately that she never noticed. 

She had sat next to him the day before, one of the first times she had really had a chance to see him in months, but they each had said nothing, all the while, in her mind, a quiet battle raging. Secretly she had memorized the lines of his face, and had caught herself wondering how it would feel to have those arms wrapped about her, his eyes just looking at her alone.  She had tried to talk to him and yet, had purposely driven him away with whatever she said.  The words she wanted to say, never leaving her. Sitting beside him was almost too much and she constantly shifted, never letting her eyes linger on his face that would occasionally be turned towards her.  Instead she had made every effort to remain indifferent to his actions, she forced herself not to care that he left early and that her last words to him had been an insult.  But it was veiled, for from within her heart she had tried to put into those words, a feeling that was too hard to convey and that she hoped he had felt, a feeling that had completely contradicted what her mind had had her say to him.