Without Focus

Some nights, here alone in my house, the words I want to write flit about like moths at a bare bulb, and all I need do is reach my hand out and grab them.

This is not one of those nights.

I phone Nikola, wondering if he will be awake at two in the morning. He isn’t, or at least he doesn’t answer his phone, so I leave him a message.

“I can’t focus tonight,” I say, “and when I can’t focus, I can’t write, so I should probably just go to bed. Don’t phone me back if you get this tonight. We can talk tomorrow.” I start to say goodbye, but then stop, and completely without thinking I add, “You’re missing me right now not wearing anything but a T-shirt and thigh-high socks. Call me tomorrow.”

I hang up.

I have no idea why I said that. It’s not even true. I’m wearing sweatpants and a bathrobe and my breath smells like garlic from the pasta I had for dinner and I haven’t washed my hair today.

I think if Nikola were here right now though, I’d let him open my robe.

After I brushed my teeth.

Definitely after.