Here Comes the Sun

[orthanc]

Four mornings to go.

Four more times I have to wake up without you. Four more times I choke down the urge to cry or scream or whatever it is I want to do, I've never found out. Four more. Four more.

I can count 'em down. I can keep abreast of 'em. But I miss you. I miss you.

Four mornings to go.

Four more times I have to wear something to bed. Four more times I have to lay down and toss and turn and get up and go back down, all on my own. Four more. Four more.

I can do it fine. I can go on, I've done it so far. But I miss you. I miss you.

Four mornings to go.

Four more times I have to stay silent. Four more times I have to listen to a pair of limping footsteps in the wee hours before dawn. Four more. Four more.

I can make it. I can stay awake long enough. But I miss you. I miss you.

Four mornings to go.

Four more times I have to smell cat-litter carpet. Four more times I make no further progress on a Terry Pratchett novel of your choice. Four more. Four more.

I can force myself. I can break on through. But I miss you. I miss you.

Four mornings to go.

Then, baby. Yeah, baby. You know, baby.

I'm comin' home.