The end of your life
I hung out with my girl again today.
When we talk, it’s not like it is with Dusk where we can’t get the words out fast enough. Our conversations happen at the pace of her mind. So, there are lots of discussions that we’ve been having for months: the one about her sexuality, the one about non-monogamy, the one about the way to stop climate change, the one about direct action. When we see each other, she might have done some more thinking and we might take a few steps further.
Just before she left to get on the train to go back to Bradford, we sat on the edge of the hospital bed and I put my head on her shoulder and my face against her neck and curled my arm around her tummy and her ribs. It was as close as we were going to get to being in bed together and it felt like heaven. She is so soft and womanly and she swells in just the right places.
I said to her that being in the ward with all these eighty-year-old women made me want to kill myself and she asked why and I said because they are at the end of their lives.