for faces
Sitting on the couch cushions, on a night that didn’t feel much like Saturday. Crawling up against his chest, like a cat. A sigh. A letting go of the workday, a kind of easing. Into slowness. The little reading lamp over the chair. The shadows between the kitchen and the window.
“Everyone says I should join facebook,” he said, soft and sleepy.
Tracing the leaves on his arm. “Don’t join facebook.”
“I said -You should send me the pictures you took- and they said –We’re going to post them on facebook.-”
“Don’t do it.”
“And I said, -Call me the next time you want to hang out.- And they said –But we’d invite you on facebook.-”
A sigh. “One day, we’re going to break up,” I said to his bicep, “and you’re going to join facebook. Then you’ll post pictures of yourself with your new girlfriend online. And I’m going to look at them.”
“Why does your brain go to these terrible places?”
“I don’t know,” I said, closing my eyes against all the pictures I’d seen. Burying my head into the present, the thick weave of the couch, the smell of bar soap, the extra warmth of his body in the here and now.
“Everyone says I should join facebook,” he said, soft and sleepy.
Tracing the leaves on his arm. “Don’t join facebook.”
“I said -You should send me the pictures you took- and they said –We’re going to post them on facebook.-”
“Don’t do it.”
“And I said, -Call me the next time you want to hang out.- And they said –But we’d invite you on facebook.-”
A sigh. “One day, we’re going to break up,” I said to his bicep, “and you’re going to join facebook. Then you’ll post pictures of yourself with your new girlfriend online. And I’m going to look at them.”
“Why does your brain go to these terrible places?”
“I don’t know,” I said, closing my eyes against all the pictures I’d seen. Burying my head into the present, the thick weave of the couch, the smell of bar soap, the extra warmth of his body in the here and now.
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