At bedtime, I sit on the edge of the bed and undress as slowly as I can. I don’t want the night to end with us apart again, but I can’t think of anything to say to make him speak to me before he turns out the lights.
On his side of the bed, he ignores me as he pulls off his shirt. Do I not exist?
Sometimes I wonder, especially when I’m alone. Without his hands on my body, his gaze or touch or words, I can’t prove I’m here. Without him, I feel like I’m fading, growing dimmer and dimmer. The times he ignores me, or pretends I’m not there, make me feel as if I’m really not, and I’m afraid one day I’ll vanish altogether, extinguished like a flame in the rain.
It’s going to be a bad night if I don’t sleep in his arms. It just might be the night I disappear completely.
I watch him stand to
