I believe he loves me.

Egon Schiele_The Embrace (Lovers II)

I believe he loves me. I believe that in those few hours we spend together, he’s really there with me — that he forgets the things he doesn’t want to remember. He usually arrives around 10 PM. Goes straight to the bedroom. He doesn’t even touch my doggie — he’s a cat person.

He undresses in two minutes, already half-asleep — probably because of his antidepressants. We talk a little about office gossip. Maybe there’s one line about something personal, from him or from me. That’s all.

The only thing that makes me feel something real with him is sleeping together. That’s the one space where it feels like there’s truth. We hold each other’s hands, and his big body wraps around my smaller one. All night. We don’t let go. We hold onto each other with everything we have.

I love sleeping naked with him. I love how we lie wrapped up in each other. His hand between my thighs. Sometimes, even in his sleep, his long, beautiful fingers wander down toward my vagina. Even in sleep, he can reach for me like that. My hand ends up near him…The pulse of it wakes me up — swollen, full of blood.

I love this kind of intimacy with him. It feels like maybe — just maybe — it’s the only thing between us that’s real.