I don't sit in that chair because that chair is heir's. Not by way of property, but by inference. By association.

By amore.

I glance, every now again, for the visage of my friend but find instead the aura of her person. The seat of warm feelings where she broadcasts her affections, dispenses that which I am grateful to receive

And so I go from spot to spot, aware that I'm being invaded. Aware that my everyday reality is shifting. Heading towards something bigger. Better.

So I relent day by day. Hour by hour. Seeding ground to most treasured invader. Allowing her space, all be it slowly, to streech her arms, hoping that they end up around me.

Now I reflect on her presence, due to absence, and ponder what I want. What she wants. And what we both need. Waiting on her return with ardor, I look around at things that are not mine but stand familiar to me.

Those are her things.
And this is her place.

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