City Skyline

“What are you doing?” His voice is slow and quiet over the speaker. I open my eyes again, leaning against the window as I press my hand against the cool glass.

“I’m watching the city,” I say, and hear a soft laugh from his end of the line.

“There’s nothing like it at night, is there?”

“There really isn’t.”

We’re both quiet for a moment, and my eyes drift from the skyline to the steady rhythm of cars passing below. They move like ants, so in tune with one another, making the whole world seem calm, though I know it’s anything but.

From here, I swear I can spot the street where he first stopped a taxi for me, holding the back door open as I climbed in. His hand lingered on my elbow, and I wanted nothing more than to pull him inside.

I can make out the baseball stadium on the outskirts of the city, its white lights faded into the fog. They remind me of that hot August day when we arrived late because we spent too long wandering the streets, and stumbled into the stadium at the bottom of the eighth.

“I miss you,” I whisper, and he sighs.

“I’ll be home soon,” he says, and I smile, like I believe it.

For a second, I almost do.

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