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∞∞∞
Luke doesn’t show the next day. I order my tea to save face, but I’m beyond disappointed. I entertain all kinds of irrational thoughts. Silly things that only an over-analytical writer could invent. He’d think I’d lost my mind if he were here and I actually shared any of them with him. I wouldn’t blame him.
But he’s not here. He never promised he would be.
I sip my tea, staring out the window. I can’t stare for long until my gaze crosses paths with the chair. It’s still vacant. In fact, I realize I haven’t seen anyone in it since I’d been an unknowing trespasser. I think it will be strange watching someone sit in it. Irreverent somehow. It won’t be his or her fault. The intruder won’t know the blasphemy they’re committing. I imagine what would happen to Luke’s face if he were here eating his toast with orange marmalade and all of the sudden someone sat in the chair. I can almost see the darkness settle over his features, the internal battle that rages every time his present clashes with that part of his past. My instinct wants to call it “his chair” but I don’t think it is. There’s a ghost there, in that chair.
The hair rises on my arm as I study it, only five feet away. I could probably touch it and even make it look like an accident if I wanted to. I don’t know why I’d want to. It’s Luke’s chair, not mine. I don’t touch it. I don’t have that right.