She could feel her body complaining about its exhaustion, its desire to let slumber take its restorative grasp and do what only it could. A glance at the clock told her that it was probably too late. But hope was a familiar companion, especially on nights such as this.
She waited, her window open and the curtains drawn back so she could see the storm as it rolled through, watching it from the warm folds of her blankets, the lightning beginning its dance among the clouds. It brought her peace, finding a certain comfort in knowing that nature itself shared in the condition of her heart. She glanced at her phone, watching with unblinking eyes to see if she had any new messages. It was not the first night she had spent waiting up for a call...a text... an email.
Finally resigning herself, she grabbed the phone and shoved it under her pillow, refusing to look at it anymore. If he wanted to be that way, then that was fine. What could she do about it anyway? If she pushed, he might run; if she ignored, he might grow complacent. The move was his, and the only option she had was to wait until he used those long slender fingers of his to put his next piece on the board and expand his own territory, waiting for her response.
This dance they seemed to be engaged in...this game of strategy. At least it seemed strategic to her. Every word, every message calculated to exact a response. Silence was analyzed as much as any word or sound, and it all got filed away into this composite image of the world they'd created for themselves. On nights like this, she just wanted it to be her move again. What she hated more than anything was the uncertainty of knowing how he was going to play off her own previous attack or defense. It was the uncertainty that kept her up into the late hours of the night.
Thunder hummed in the distance, an arc of lightning connecting two clouds briefly as the pattering of rain filled her hearing. How she envied those two clouds.
