"So after we went to bed around five, he got up at nine to," she pinches her index finger and thumb together and lifts it to her lips, "you know, and then came back to bed." She shrugs.
I remember my (long past) days of wake and bake, slipping back into bed in the gray hours of morning, stoned and almost suicidally lonely, the delicious cool sheets caressing me as I lapse into unconsciousness.
The simultaneous longing and revulsion curdle in me, and I shudder.
Post a Comment