"Come back," she whispers in my brain.
I sit looking at mounds of paper and numbers.
"Come back to me," she says.
Every piece of me wanting to go.
"My arms miss holding you," she teases.
And for five seconds I close my eyes.
I know the smells. I know the riot of colors.
"If only for a minute, come to me," she pleads.
I yearn for the purple, the green, and the gold. She knows she has me.
"I'll see you soon then," she closes with a smile, knowing it's impossible for me to stay away.