July 2018
I'm picturing a different face now, sitting in the passenger seat as I sing along to the radio. A different lump in the sheets beside me. It's been a matter of days, but that's how these things go.
He's rougher outside, softer inside. He isn't the blinding sunlight, but he is the smattering of stars on a clear night. Hell, for all I know, he's nothing. It's been days. I was at the bottom of the ocean for two years and that first gulp of oxygen has had me reeling. I may just be clinging to the hope that I can feel something again. Or, it may be history repeating itself. The sun sets. The moon rises and the stars come out.
I think this one will hurt a lot less.
