less

We used to play in the snow. naked cheesecake. meat-a-ballsah. 2 beds. three. one. There was a foot spa and christmas poetry. stop and shop thievery. lennon obsession and the playback of hidden dragon over and over (and over). super-stickied love notes. Daisies and beds too high. scrap-books and half-assed home making. jeopardy and back scratching. dump after dump after dump; flooded basements and lost ikea rugs.

I guess it was inevitable...everything we ever shared found its way into ruin. I guess you can't question that grand scheme- overwhelming and always victorious.

He asked why you don't live here tonight. What can you say to something like that? he asked if you were here when we got out of the shower. What do you say to something like that? I told him he has your hands tonight. He does. I think it made me begin to miss them again; because his are too small and don't reach for my cheek the way you used to, every night, before we fell into dreams.

No matter what you start with, it always ends up being so much less.

So much less.

ref: "she just wept", starsailor