The Man Who Entered Our Bedroom at 1:13 Every Night

about that too.

Not just the last few months. Longer.

Years, maybe, of believing that going to work and paying bills and taking the trash out and being home for dinner most nights added up to attention. As if logistics were the same as presence.

I reached for her hand. Stopped before touching it.

She noticed.

“I’m not glass.”

“I don’t know what you are right continue reading …