Blog, Creative Non-Fiction


You were in nestled in, faded navy blue sweatpants thin with wear around the ankles like maybe they were too long and you had walked on them unconsciously for years. You were perched (there is no other way to describe the way that your body clenched and balanced itself on the armrest of the couch where my head has laid other times, my eyes dazed and staring up at you as you pull your glasses off, a familiar gesture that I’ve seen so many times, and I kept thinking how I like the different ways you look with your glasses on and off, the parts of you that come out in each moment and the span of seconds between, the transition when you reach your hand up, sometimes slowly, sometimes frantically, sometimes pushing them atop of your head, sometimes tugging them from your face and setting them aside on the coffee table or letting them fall into the cracks of the couch or rest on your bedside table against the wolf lamp that does not give off enough light for you to capture a picture of the wetness surrounding your body when we are up far too late talking and fucking over distance and language.) Anyway.