I love him.
He's sitting beside me, glued to the television. I'm at my PC. We stare past each other. I have my electronic friends, he has his televised beliefs.
We toy with the idea of going to bed but my body's in poor shape; I don't want him to see it. He's torn between his penis and his throat and the whisky wins. One more won't hurt. We smile and call our inertia ‘relaxing'.
The air hangs heavy. My friends log off to bed. I can head west; my blog says Nevada's online.
He says, he's going away next week. I can't go; the kids are in school. It's just a few days. OK.
He says, I need to respect his needs; he needs to go. I say, OK. I respect him, he can go.
I'll look forward to him coming back.
I'll start looking forward to that now, then.
Martha Williams lives and writes in the UK. Her work has appeared in The Linnet's Wings, The Pygmy Giant, Metazen, S, and more. Her stories and links are available at www.marthawilliams.org