Telling: Streams & Logs


It's 2:07am. I am waked.

His hand on my arm wakes me, the startlement, the warmth highlighting my chill. I listen to it intensely, the weight, the unmoving. I can do nothing else. I can do nothing but listen. It doesn't seem to be saying anything.

When he lifts it away, turning in his sleep, the shock of the broken connection makes me moan.

All I am now is cold and luminous. I clutch at the sheet as if it might save me.

I am as a sleeping city in the deep of night with all the lights lit. All those streets and no one on them. No traffic at all. No traffic, all leeway.

I am a race with no movement, encompassing at once both beginning and end, quick with it, I am.

How did I get to be so hungry?