Fingers crossed behind my back, I promised myself I believed in miracles
I made a choice. And then spring came with a cool breeze and sunlight (winter was gone) and I wondered if I had made a mistake -
the kind of short-sighted blunder that romantic heroines pursue, only to come running back at the twelfth hour.
No, he will never chase me.
(I have to keep reminding myself of this simple and complicated fact.)
The humidity is almost unbearable now, but I'm holding out on the a/c for a while longer. He lets me lay close in the dark, even though he is too hot for covers.
He touches my spine, tracing the space between ribs. Rolling on my back, my leg draped over his - I pretend not to notice as his hands brush ever so slightly closer with each breathless, finger painted circle. He waits for me to invite him deeper and obliges when I cover his hand with mine, working softly to a place outside of my skin. He knows I cannot be saved but he pushes inside of me with a heart full of mercy so that I may at least forget long enough to drop off the edge of sleep.