It's 2.50 am.
Regular like a heartbeat, thunder breaks the hush of darkness outside.
The sheets are rumpled, rolling across the emptiness of my bed.
It's disquieting.
On tv, animals of every description are having sex on Nat Geo. Oh look. A pair of sea slugs are fencing. Using their penises (penii?). The winning slug is the one that manages to penetrate the other, and gets the prize of being the male. You go...boy! The loser packs away his package and simpers into female submissiveness, giving up her (formerly his) eggs for insemination. Oh the shame.
I can imagine the nonsense conversation we'd have, if you were watching this too.
But you are at home. And I wonder if it's warm enough as you sleep on the diagonal. You looked cold when you left.
It's heartening that she's able now to say my name. Surely that's an upgrade from 'nemesis'! Heh. Baby crawls.
There is hope.
