Lately I find myself staying in bed. I'm not tired, and I don't always fall back asleep. I stretch my arm out across the right side of the bed that I leave open. I can spend up to an hour like this, morning dreams racing through my mind and writing our narrative. Without realizing it, I press my lips to the inside corner of my elbow. This can go on, lips moving, stretching my other arm across to hold my own hand, but eventually I always jump out as quick as I fell in. I fear these projections of a future are interrupting my own memories; I worry I won't always be able to separate what really goes on between us and these rainy morning images, or worse, that I will begin to favor the romance I create in solitude.
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