index | archives | notes Sunday, Dec. 02, 2007 11:47 a.m. << [ My Bed ] >> This is a week after he's saved me from a tiny boy, and a few hours after he's saved me from a large boy, we're standing in the kitchen. I'm saying, "I don't want to talk about this," he's saying, "She used to have a thing for me," I'm walking out, muttering, "You shouldn't bring that up," mumbling, "I'm leaving now," and during my retreat I hear a mutual friend say, "She's been crushing on you just like you've been crushing on her." The cold wraps like bangles up my arms, and I walk back inside and under the covers. I fall asleep to bravado and I wake up to him crawling to bed with me on the floor, despite the couch and chair that are empty. I ask him to pass me another pillow, because I can't fall asleep without holding something. I show him and he laughs, then links his fingers through mine. In the morning I match my breath with his, and the sun rises through blinds. << | x | >> whatiscopyright.org