At night is when it effects him the most. He sits in his chair and flips through the channels, the blue light from the television flooding the dark room. He sips from his tea, since it's too late at night for coffee. He isn't really watching what is on the screen. His thoughts are all about her. He wants to be with her tonight, but she is out of town, traveling, as usual. At best, since the day they got together, he averaged one or two times a week in seeing her. He takes another sip. That's fine, he thinks, she has a great life going for her out there on stage almost every night, and hey, she was with him, right? Right. He didn't want to pressure her about more time together, he didn't want to bother her with all those relationship questions because she had enough stress already. He didn't want to add to it.
He turns off the television and glances towards the clock. The bright green digital numbers shine back that it is after three in the morning. Sleep is seeming out of the question, he says. He turns on the light and sits at his piano, his fingers lightly brushing along the keys. He got this for her a year ago, she didn't like extravagant gifts, so he put it at his place for her to enjoy when she came over, which again, was rare. He struck up a simple tune, his eyes closing as his fingers danced along the keys. He sighs and stops playing, his hand pulling a small journal from his robe pocket. He takes a pen from on top of the piano and flips open to a clean page. He simply writes I miss you. He tears the page from the journal and walks over to his desk. He has letters, plenty of unsent letters to her that he knows he can never send. She was never much into the mushy romance stuff. He takes one of the envelopes, addresses it to her hotel in the city she is playing in next week, and slips his note inside. Simple and to the point, he thinks. He knows she gets tired of hearing it, but he knows that he has to be honest to her and these words are as honest as it gets.
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