bedroom memories
quiet times, with you, some time ago, beside you and the heavy books you follow daily: every morning - at your transparent top worktable; every evening in the bed, where my legs are covered with a quilt, not a thin, rough blanket. i dig a little space for myself, nuzzling beside your little waist sometimes, like a little worm who has found its hole, in the dark little cave of a tshirt on top of my head, or over my eyes. i listen at every turn of the page of the book you are reading, and sometimes peek at you. your eyes would be focused, calm, and sometimes closed at the end of your reading, pondering the passages of the shalom. you are probably praying, feelings loud inside, but as close as i am next to you, i could only hear the air conditioning. you turn off the light, and i hug you. you used to hug me from behind, we were like two spoons of different manufacturing origins, yet bent the same way when placed one on top of the other. i would feel such love. but i never could fall asleep with your arms around me. "sleep, silly baby," you would mutter, and turn the other way. i loved every moment of it.