I spend the rest of dinner actively thinking of anything that is not Stone. I’m semi-successful. I thought about going out since it was Friday night, but I’m still so new to town and know no one. Going out alone and exploring just seems like more effort than I’m willing to do right now.

Instead, I take a long, hot shower, then sit in bed with my laptop. I’ve been writing for several years. I remember being a kid, and reading books like Harry Potter and authors like Stephen King, and wanting to be able to tell stories like they do. Create worlds and have the ability to move people with my words.

When Stone disappeared, writing down my feelings helped a lot. I was able to process my emotions and expel some of the anger and hurt I was holding on to. At some point, it transformed from an angry journal into a work of fiction. I’ve written several manuscripts over the years, none of them ever seeing the light of day, but it’s still therapeutic.

The current story I’m working on here and there is about a lonely man named Lennon, who owns property on thirty acres. The farmhouse he lives in is one he built himself. It’s a cornflower blue, with white shutters, and white trim. The door is a shade of maroon, and has stained glass, and there is a wraparound porch with a rocking chair. Flower beds reside around the entire expanse of the house, with an extended vegetable garden in the back.

The man has horses, chickens, and goats, and an Australian Cattle dog named Mickey, who has one blue eye and one green eye, and is fiercely loyal to his owner. Lennon spends his days working hard, and his nights lying under the night sky, counting stars, and talking to the universe.

Lennon goes through life feeling like a piece of him is missing, like he’s not whole. A significant part of his soul is elsewhere, needing to find its way back home. So, every night, he talks to the man on the moon, wishes upon stars, and argues with the universe to let him find the missing piece of his soul, only to wake up still lonely, and do it all over again.

This is a piece I’ve been working on for a few years now. The last year of my PhD program was grueling, and I never found enough time to focus on it, but every so often, words will form in my brain, and I have to get them out. Like tonight, for example.

I type on my laptop until my fingers are sore and my eyes burn from exhaustion, only to fall asleep with it still on my lap. I spend the entirety of my weekend feeding that document chunks of my heart and soul, pouring pieces of me out until nothing is left to be said.