11.

And it could be considered an unhealthy
game that I play with the sun on such
a gray day.

I won't come out until she does.

So time slides around the clock as I burrow
deep and the sun piles pillows of clouds.
I peek behind the curtain and how the
sun is still hiding, still waiting, pacing
round as I tuck my knees in and finger
the blanket's weave with my toes.

Hunger pushes, rain pours, noises pull.
A bowl of oatmeal, bring my blanket with
me, that's my compromise.

And the gray clouds turned a bit whiter.