Everything's unpacked in my new apartment save for two boxes I brought over last night. It feels almost like home now. Almost. She's been gone for a week, and I feel that all my cells are hanging over a ledge, reaching for her, waiting. I pace the hardwood floor, from one room to the next, restless, a half dozen times a night. Finally, I settle into the middle of the bed, on my back, the blankets up to my chin, resisting the urge to call for one final intonation of closeness through the phone lines.