Forty-two

All qualities are the same – the light through the curtains, the faraway hum of traffic, the boiler rush of water. It could be groundhog day, except that my body is more tired, my skin more transparent. I am less than yesterday.

And

Adam is in the camp bed.

I try to sit up, but can’t quite muster the energy. ‘Why did you sleep down there?’

He touches my hand. ‘You were in pain in the night.’

He opens the curtains just like he did yesterday. He stands at the window looking out. Beyond him, the sky is pale and watery.

 

we made love twenty-seven times and we shared a bed for sixty-two nights and that’s a lot of love

 

‘Breakfast?’ he says.

 

I don’t want to be dead.

I haven’t been loved this way for long enough.

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