The flowers are blooming. We listen to Astor Piazzolla at home and have a drink - me a glass of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc and you a glass of rye whiskey with one perfectly square ice cube. You play air cello and I laugh. Meeko barks when I laugh. There's an emptiness in my fingers that aches when I hear this dissonance and I know you feel it too. It'll be your birthday soon and we'll be the same age again for five weeks. I have a surprise planned but you won't let me tell you what it is. Summertime will be hear soon and so will the stifling city heat. This will be the first summer we spend together since you left but came back.