How can love survive in such a graceless age
The trust and self-assurance that lead to happiness
They're the very things we kill, I guess
Pride and competition cannot fill these empty arms
And the work I put between us,
You know it doesn't keep me warm
You know when you wake up cold, nightmares and ghosts clawing you back
to the dark with them, and you fight to get to the light, to get away
from them? That was my morning, five or so, up with the birds, ghosts
and 'mares, brushing the cobwebs of sleep away and then Lochlan pulled
me in against his chest and I couldn't breathe there so he settled on
his back, one arm around my neck, making tiny steeple-flames with his
index fingers while I watched through bleary, teary eyes and sniffled
constantly. Eventually he got too tired again and dozed and I slipped
out of his arms and got ready for the day, ducking under a hot shower,
then into clean warn clothes to head downstairs.
My phone is on the desk beside my laptop, lined up perfectly and the Devil sits at the kitchen island, sipping coffee, reading the market news. A second cup of coffee sits ready beside him at the next stool.
PJ up?
That's for you. He nods toward the cup. So what did you end up ordering?
An 11 pro max. Gold even. 512. Every bell and whistle I could get.
He laughs loudly. I would have expected no less.
You can't dole out pills. You're not in charge of them.
Maybe your husband gave it to me to give to you. You don't think we coordinate our efforts?
Of course I don't. Unless it's an emergency and it's not. Not right now anyway.
His eyes bore a hole into the side of my head while I climb up on the stool and get comfortable, taking a sip of the coffee. It's still hot. I'm still cold. Even without looking at him I can see how sad he looks.