I know you're waiting for my return. I can hear it in your voice each time you call. The static on the line seems to spell out a coherent message if I listen carefully. I know you've been concerned about my well-being. I can see it in the fine lines under your eyes in the grainy pictures that you send me. I know you're wondering if the stains of my soul will ever fade away from the hours of your day. I can sense it in the long, drawn-out silences punctuated by the trickles of communication you send my way. Much as you wish the machinations between us were different, we both know this is one exile you willed into playing out. For if I were to actually stay, the end, as you know, would be inevitable. This way, at least, there is a sense of lingering even if it means lingering into oblivion. Because everyone loves a good sunset - one that gently paints the horizon as it cleverly pulls on the cover of darkness. It's so much better than merely flicking off a switch, isn't it?