There are so many things that remind me of her, of us, everything from significant signs, the moon in her sky, the sun setting for me as it lights her day, the star that appeared over her as I stared West, a similar one she took a photo of for me. Rainbows; I know how she loves them and what they mean to her. Music; songs we’ve shared and some with poignant lyrics that stop me in my tracks. More than once, I’ve involuntarily burst into tears when a song played on the radio. Even the mundane, a mention of a place we’ve been, a TV show that has a city or even a street, a bridge we’ve visited and walked together, dates and times, powerful memories, counting hours, days months since that time or this time, always transported to her, instantly, viscerally, touch, taste, the warmth of her skin, the smell of her hair.

Of all the things that have meaning for us, it seems numbers play a big part often, but five appears a lot. May, the fifth month, the month we met in person for the first time, the following May when we first became so much more, when she first let me into her heart (and and). 503, our first room after the first night, the room where we tumbled and twisted and found each other, held each other, explored each other, still in the fifth month. 598, the room of the magical trip, the end of a gruelling week, a birthday treat, an incredible experience. Rockstar drinks, room service, Carlos and Mary and… No Ice.

315, another significant stay in not such an exciting location but always incredible when with her, it could be anywhere.

The number of states we explored together, during our first epic journey, guess what, five. Such an incredible, heartfelt, passionate trip, when she became my girlfriend and I fashioned a ring and placed it on her finger on bended knee. The target number of orgasms I aim to give her every day whenever we are together, three may be a good minimum but five is better ?

The number of hours we spend together on Saturday, talking, laughing, longing, loving, five glorious hours where nothing matters and anything goes, my favorite five hours of the week. The number of hours she spent with me on my (guess what) fiftieth birthday, with decorations and gifts in public. Five days of the week where we hold our breath and wait and long, snatching moments as we can can and count until our five hours arrives.

The number of hours she typically sleeps for before waking and wishing me a good day. There are no doubt so many more but there is obviously something significant about five for us, one of the hardest is, the number of months from the first moment in that first month, until the month I kissed her last, held her last, a few days and would have been six but seems like five was having it’s way. Perhaps it’ll be five days or weeks until we see each other again, holding her tight, nothing between us, I’ll never let go this time, my five fingers (ok one thumb) in hers, I’m counting and looking for fives.

To you, my angel, I love all of our significant things, dates, symbols, music and I love our fives, all of them, I know there’ll be more, many more, the universe is like that. Counting the minutes, the hours, the days, looking for fives, aching for you, feel my fingers in yours and dream of fives, perhaps you’ll think of more. I love you

My Lord, I am on my knees to you often and plan five prayers today. One to calm her, help her rest and be refreshed for the week ahead. One to give her strength and guidance during her challenging work week. One to thank you for bringing her to me, for lighting my life with her.  One to keep her safe always, from everything, Jack Rabbits to Storms to Coyotes. The last for guidance, to show us the path back together, bring her to my arms where she belongs. I implore you.

Universe, clearly you are trying to tell us something, seems like a clue, I feel like a I have a puzzle without the instructions, help me piece it together and hold her again, I need her. I’m watching and waiting for more clues, more fives.

ILY IMY CS