The Boat Never Comes

It rained today. 

The tree was at the perfect angle for me to lean, so I did. I stared at the drizzle, the line of fishing boats, but especially the empty spaces. A patch of sidewalk, a vacant balcony, and the small expanse of open harbor where the last fishing boat might just cruise in. And on the deck, a waving figure. 

A leap onto the wet pavement. Running footsteps. Slower. Closer.

I jerk out of it. 

Don't be ridiculous.

It's so hard not to be.