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It’s Friday, the end of the working day – as I navigate the bends in the road, I imagine what it would be like if you were sitting next to me. Your hand resting very lightly on my thigh, your B

It’s Friday, the end of the working day – as I navigate the bends in the road, I imagine what it would be like if you were sitting next to me. Your hand resting ever so lightly on my thigh, your touch warm and inviting. Your closeness would fill the silence; your touch would trigger a quiet, tingling tension within me. I cast a quick glance at the empty seat beside me. The longing for you, for your touch, grows stronger. I imagine your fingers brushing against mine, how we’d understand without words that this moment belongs to us.