Loneliness

It's one of those nights when Psyche can't seem to sleep.

The streetlamps are lit outside -- little puffs of light like little vigilant fairies standing guard all in a row. The air is warm, still flushed from summer's daily showers of affection. Across the street, the sighing cello of Piazzolla's Libertango announces its lovesickness to the world from the window of the second-story bedroom.

I don't mind standing every day
Out on your corner in the pouring rain

Psyche closes her eyes, listening to the breeze rustle the billowing curtains. It isn't because it's too hot to sleep, she realizes. It is the absence of warmth beside her that induces this wretched insomnia.

Look for the girl with the broken smile
Ask her if she wants to stay awhile

Psyche doesn't believe in miracles. But she'll leave the window open for Eros a little while longer.