I hate math.
I suck at math.
But the moment I walked back into the bedroom, the front door bolted to the night after too brief of a kiss and watching him walk away, the equations began.
A bed of three now two.
A family of five now a temporary four.
A fractured night of sleep now the last whole number.
I checked my phone for the time.
Five days until he returns.
Now eight minutes since the taillights faded from sight.
Now an hour since I climbed into his side of the bed, a pillow placed where he should be.
Now two hours that I have been wide-eyed in the dark, waiting for the heat of the desert sun to burn the minutes away.
How many hours can I sleep to make the days go by quicker?
Eight would be nice.
Three will be likely.
An estimated 111 hours.
From that kiss in the dark hours of morning until that kiss hello on Friday.
I did the math.