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On a normal night I would be at his house, arranging some concoction of over-priced goods in a skillet and pretending that I know what I'm doing while ridiculous re-runs sound off in the background, making me smile. I like to sip white wine while I cook and despite unfavoring comments, prefer to be barefoot in the kitchen.

On a normal night we would be lying together in a tangle of us and sheets, the smell of our fumbling skin shaking up an intoxicating cocktail as the sound of our breathing drowns out the television just three feet away.

On a normal night I would know what he wants and how he feels; I would know where he is.
On a normal night I would know, with no uncertainty, that he wants me.

I wish tonight was a normal night.