I knelt naked in front of her favorite chair. My hands folded in my lap, eyes gazing at a spot six inches in front of my knees. Waiting. I couldn't say how long I'd been sitting there - an hour? Two? It didn't matter. I would wait until I was called upon. I heard the tell-tale sounds of her moving through the house - a creak on the landing, a cabinet shutting in the kitchen, and finally, footsteps approaching from behind. It took all my discipline not to turn my head and fill my eyes with the visage I was so familiar with but hadn't been allowed to look upon in ten days. I craved to look up into the face I loved, to see a smile creep across her face as if she were trying to keep it from the light of day. I wanted to see her crystal eyes gaze back down at me in mutual adoration. I desired all of this, but for the last ten days my desires had been of little consequence.
I waited as I listened to her step within a hair's breadth of me - I could all but feel the fabric of her jeans graze my skin - as she moved past me to settle into her easy chair. The patch of floor my eyes had been boring holes into was suddenly filled with the only part of her body I had been allowed to see in nearly two weeks. She was wearing a pair of low top Converse she had owned since before we met four years ago. They had been well loved and weather-beaten even then. I heard her set something down with a ceramic clunk and the whisper of a book opening. She crossed her ankles, ignoring my presence. I traced the stitches of her shoes with my eyes, noting the wear patterns where her feet occasionally scuffed together. I studied a two-year-old mud stain on the once-white rubber toe.