Young love, longing and loss
+ weekly recs
You linger on the bed, with your neck exposed, looking up at the ceiling. You’re sleepy, but you keep yourself awake for me. I’m here late chatting with you, hanging from your shoulder, my head on your chest. Your Adam’s apple bobs when you swallow. I can’t go. The room is cold. When I pull away from you, my skin will tear like paper.
My apartment is only a few blocks away, where my body should be. Neither of us can part yet, even though we should. You work in a few hours in the early morning, to deliver bread for a local bakery. I know that when I see you later, you’ll have a fresh levain for me in a paper bag. And I’ll wrap the bread in plastic to keep it soft all week, for the days when I’m alone.
Will you come to me later?
Yeah, of course.
Cool. Cool.
Finally, I go.
You come over in the afternoon. I slice the levain on the counter of my kitchenette. Toast it up and load it with swaths of butter. You sit at the breakfast table; on my roommate’s furniture. And you remove the beanie from your head and tussle your hair.
Long day. Hard day.
You don’t want any toast?
Nah.
What do you want? Because I’ll give it you.