The room is cold and messy and dark, lit only by a tiny old television set and the soft blue glow of dying daylight through drawn curtains.
I stand, and you stand, and you press yourself against me, an embrace, your forehead where my neck and shoulder meet. We sway, a slow and woozy dance, deep sea flora in some invisible current. Please, just for a minute, I say. On the TV, a judge on a courtroom show says something funny, his audience laughs.
Whispering against my neck, you list things we will do. Where we will go, what we’ll do there, what we will do when we get back.
I don’t care, I say, I don’t care.
As long as I am with you.