may 2014

she came home from whole foods, sunglasses perched on her forehead, standing in the elevator humming the chorus to a pop song she heard in the market.

i heard the front door, then her solid heels on the wood flooring. i heard the rustle of the paper bag as it hit the counter top. soon she was in the study, standing in the doorway.

she found me crying silently. she didn't say anything. the book was open, upturned on my lap.

she walked over and stroked my shoulder.

"fucking sherman," i said. and she smiled and i love when her eyes and mouth begin to laugh, but it's laughter inside, warm laughter, when she finds something touching, intimately funny. an inside joke between the two of us.

she sat on my lap and the book fell to the floor. sunlight streamed through the side window. a faint horn sounded from the west side highway.

let's just sit here like this for a long, long time.