I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to write about it. I just want to sit here and feel it. Then, I want to look over and see you.
The purity of your silent understanding soothes my invisible wounds. I just want to watch you read. I just want to listen to you talk on the phone while I nap. Do you mind if I lay on your couch and use your voice to ease myself into and out of a few dreams? I just want to take up slightly less psychic and gestural space than is usual for me. I just want to come feel terrible next to you.
I only need a few minutes because things are pretty okay with me for the most part. I know this couple—they’re married now—and one time when the girl felt sad, the boy said, “But you’ve got all…
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