PatternsI will be lying on my stomach, using my arms as a pillow, using a pillow as an awkward wedge between my two legs. I'll stare at the patterns stretched across my too-dark curtains and wonder just what time in the day it is. It will be no later than three in the morning, no earlier than eight in the evening. I'll feel him stir behind me and I'll stop making shapes out of the pattern of vines."Why are you sleeping at the other end?" He will ask, voice muffled and scratchy.And I'll move slightly, using the technique I used to practice that time I'd pretend to be sick in front of my mother, "What? What's wrong?"The bed will move again and hi
The Abuse of Parkinson's LawIt is not about the time we put into it, or whether sweat built between our clasped hands. It does not involve the introduction that got me to you, or even the ease in which we slid into a partnership that required no other company. If I had to determine the sole purpose of our union, I would not be able to come up with a palpable answer.We knew when we offered our naked skin to each other, there would be no one else we would share our time with. The tattoos marked along our hips have no value, but in them lays the only remaining manifestation of your claim to me and mine of you.The argument could easily be made for way we were able to ti