27 12 2010

He asks if we have stuff to make nachos. I know what this means.

He sinks his head farther into his hoody, “I’ll help” he says softly

“That’s okay.” I send him to the Quick Stop to pick up more beer or wine, or both. I ask him to put a record on. He picks the Beatles. A quiet static then “Here comes the sun…”
He comes from behind as I wash a pan, kissing me fanatically up and down the side of my neck and cheek.

“I love you baby”, he says, resting his chin on my shoulder.

The words won’t reciprocate. A tight grin to stifle the tears. He knows I am powerless.



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