Cristóbal and him

He's obsessing over a Balenciaga sweater he found at Printemps just before we left. The stone print reminds him of Grand Central, or so he says. I let him worry because it's good for him, it takes his mind off things for a while and he sleeps less lightly.

At nights I lie awake beside him listening to the rhythm of the ocean outside. I always leave places imagining that things will start over once I get back. They never do, instead it immediately feels as if I never left, that my absence was just a glitch in time, a short moment of sleep before the morning.

It was always like that but somehow I learned to live with it and my dreams are intact, unbroken. He turns to me and looks me in the eye for a second that could last a lifetime. The poison is working, tomorrow is just another day.