Aftermath

The air about us was still and a bit damp as we lay there in the darkness, the silence added weight to our surroundings. For moments at a time I felt as if I could not speak or very well decide if speech was in fact better than silence. At other moments, I felt as if I could open my mouth and pour out a deluge of words, that I could talk well into the dawn never ceasing, and the notion scared me.

"What are you thinking?" he quietly demanded. "Tell me."

And I thought, what am I thinking? I'm thinking about how it feels to have my head nestled against your shoulder and about how difficult it is for me to feel warm while you are laying here utterly perspiring. I'm thinking about what this all means for us and our loving relationship, though we are not in love. I'm considering the feeling of your callused fingertips against my pillow-like lips. I'm wondering why I can't hear the ducks' quacking in the daytime from the lake outside my flat but I hear them so loudly at night. I'm thinking about how every kiss and touch that led up to this was filled with supsense and innocent, unspoken boundaries and I'm wondering if we've lost something.

I shifted a little bit to see the way the moonlight shined on his face. His eyes were closed in waiting.

"I'm happy," I whispered.