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.
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.