Friday, May 16, 2008


...Next to he takes a nap. His apartment is quiet, except for the TV (old episodes of Malcolm and Eddie) and his ceiling fan whipping around blowing soft whisks of air on us. We're on his living room floor (void of sofa) with the light of dusk settling over us. We've eaten, drank and sipped rum and coke and it's not even 8 pm yet. It feels like us.

There are so many things I want to say. So many things I was supposed to say the second he picked me up from Hobby. I held my tongue and instead chose to read the signs. We went to lunch, a few museums and then saw a house he's interested in. A three bedroom near downtown. I watched him look around, ask the realtor questions, inspect every room carefully and imagine it furnished.

I'm happy right now. Because I know I'll wake up beside him, and the day after and the day after. It's whats beyond that makes me feel uncertain. Does he, will he, can he love me the same? Does he know how much he hurt me? Does he know what I'm willing to do to make things work? I know I should have said this already to him. I should have demanded his audience and spoke my mind. But I'm too at ease to force his ears. I know he loves me. And for this moment, that's enough.