When I'm sitting up, turned around, fumbling with my things--pulling on my tangled shirt and bra and camisole, smoothing my hair in a rush because soon we both must look presentable, patting at my flushed cheeks and tugging at the creases, distracted--I flash my eye back and swivel around, fingers still smoothing the wrinkles on my front.

and he's laying there, head on hands, and smiling.

"Your back," he says, raising a palm to trace my shoulder. "It's so beautiful. . . . I'd never noticed that before."

I think I fall in love with him a little more every day.


Anonymous
09:41:50 PM