January 19, 2019

Jonah walked down the hallway slowly, his hand trailing behind him, running along the wall. He passed his bedroom, stopping in the doorway of guest room. Eliska was lying on the bed, asleep. He shook his head as he looked at her—on top of all of the blankets and book folded closed around her limp hand.

She had been visiting his home in Minnesota for several days, meeting his mother and sisters for the first time. Before that, however, what she had said to him when he first returned to the United States rang true.

After their reunion, she had to go home again, due to work commitments, and they were back to being apart from one other, back to getting by with conversations over the phone.

The days after he returned from tour melted into weeks, and simply stated, it was difficult for both of them. They had recognized that they desired more than a relationship over the phone, even though both truly knew that months before.

Jonah moved into the room quietly so he wouldn't wake her.

He hadn't allowed himself to dwell on it, but he knew in his heart that these times were when their relationship was healthiest, when he could wake up in the morning and see her sitting across the table from him for breakfast, when he could talk to her, face to face, on the back porch as evening turned to night.

Reaching with gentle movements, he pulled the book from Eliska's hand and draped a blanket that was at the end of the bed over her.

When he glanced at her face, covered in light from the lamp on the bedside table, he was reminded of their time at the Santa Monica Pier, when she won the spitting contest and was hopping around, yelling, while the glow of the sinking sun lit up her features.

He almost smiled, remembering how bright that entire memory seemed. Almost.

Though only a couple months had passed since that day, he felt he was much older, that both he and Eliska weren't the same as they used to be.

Reaching blindly, he turned the lamp off, bathing the room in darkness.