June 30, 2011 § Leave a comment
The next thing is the cool morning breeze from the opened window. He hears her downstairs as the hissing oil brings fried eggs to his wake-sleep yawn. He takes in a slow breath. The blankets’ warm on his stomach cools as air pushes under. If I had said something he thinks, black clouds behind closed eyes, thoughts not disturbed by light. What would be different if I had said something last night.