We stayed there until my parents got home.
He left before they saw him.
Never brought it up again.
Neither did I.
But I’ve never forgotten it.
The fact that he knew.
I still don’t know how he always knows.
The sadness and the anxiety that takes a hold of me sometimes.
• • •
That’s the thing that makes this so hard.
He’s not indifferent. He’s never been indifferent.
He just — can’t.
Whatever it is he can’t do.
And I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.
• • •
Hours pass without me doing anything but thinking about him.
Missing him.
Replaying everything over and over until it makes me sick.
Eventually I force myself to get ready for bed.
Striped pajama pants. White t-shirt.
Normal.
Everything is supposed to be normal.
I’m supposed to be normal.
I’m just about to close my eyes when —
Tap. Tap.
My heart stops.
My window.
• • •
Two weeks without seeing him.
The longest we’ve ever gone.
