As I was leaving I told her, “I really am happy that we ended up next to each other for a while, tonight and at this point in everything…” I leaned down towards her, heavy, it seemed, like my whole body was a sponge that had been soaking up a dense and watery affection for these last six months. I kissed her forehead gently. I loved her, I was sure.
She lay still, slowly breathing, by all measurable means asleep. I left quietly.
——–
Later, I wondered if I should’ve stayed. On my phone, I typed out a text. “Can I come back? I won’t keep you awake. I wish I hadn’t come home.” I didn’t send it right away. I couldn’t decide whether I should.
I stared. Into my computer screen. Into my future, hazy, bright, somewhat noisy, but a bit more alluring than ever before. My mind weighed the alternatives. All at once, a battle raged within my brain between what I wanted, what she wanted, what I needed, what she needed, and what would satisfy us both. None was much stronger than another. My thumb fixed itself atop the “send” button on my phone, its pressure increasing, decreasing, increasing; the tiniest intensification in pressure would easily forward my message. I waited. My thumb grew sore. Then in an instant, the pressure, by no deciding of my own, perhaps simply as a result of my expanding anxiety, became too heavy for the button’s resistance. The message sent.
I set the phone down on my desk. No response. I hadn’t considered this scenario, actually. She was asleep. The text, as the case most often is, did not wake her up.
She’d see it in the morning, I realized. And with that, I relegated my night to a more dispassionate level and retired from the bother of too much thought.
nice writing!