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10-17-08|
1:32 am
"What?" he asks, grabbing me close. "Sometimes I hate you. You drive me crazy. And then sometimes..." I grab his arms around my waist. "That's all part of it," he says, agreeing. As if I didn't know, as if he knows that I didn't know. Later we are laying in bed, a baseball game on TV and my laptop open to a criticism of Hobbes' Leviathan. A black pen is in my hand and his bare skin is inches away. Idly, I start to mark him, coloring in a simple heart. I stop. As an afterthought, I add "I" and "U". String the words together. Say it out loud. I have never done this. Later, he looks down. "What's this?"
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