Lines

You have never said the l-word to me, though I have said it to you.

We’ve been together almost a year now, and I don’t even want to ask why you never have, because I figure it can’t be good — either you don’t feel it, or you have THAT agreement. The one where you can have other people outside your marriage but you promise not to fall in love with anyone else.

Either way, what good can it do me to know? No, I will not ask you why.

☰ 

A text exchange:

Holly: My body might be sensitive.
Lily: Let’s make it all about me, then
Holly: I like that.
Lily: I figured you might. I’m often so busy doing things to you that you don’t get enough chances to play with me.
Holly: This is true.

☰ 

I don’t remember how I got onto the floor, but Holly is above me.

Yes, yes I say, and then her hand is inside. Oh. Ohhhhh. I pitch and roll like a boat in the ocean.

I cry after I come, because I cannot hold myself back from the emotional release that has come along with this physical release. I roll onto my side, and you are above me, your hands flat on the carpet on either side of me.

Oh my love

My eyes snap open in the darkness. I hold my breath and say nothing, for surely it is a mistake, nothing more than the kind of careless words that come with passion.

☰ 

If you don’t know how I feel about you without me saying those words, she says, then I must not be doing a good job. I don’t trust those words; how could a single word ever do justice to how I feel? It’s just a collection of lines.

But they are more than lines to me.