The fridge is providing the soundtrack as I stare at the ceiling. Warm hum from under a cold box. Outside a streetlight lights up the trees as they prepare for winter, emptying their leaves. The wind catches the screens and pops them against the glass-pa-tup, pa-tup, on and on... into the dark.

On the nightstand, 8 chapters into a paperback-on hold. A cup of cold coffee, breakfast? lunch? A napkin with remnants of an orange. Dried up seeds and strings curled up into knots. Remnants. Things left behind, evidence that there was life here. Close my eyes and listen for more sounds- steps on the stairs? The reassurance of keys thrown on a counter or the clink of ice into glasses? No, there is none of that. Just the fridge. Keeping my food chilled.

Upstairs I am at room temperature.

Our love was one lived in darkness. Every night I would come to your bed and you'd turn the lights off before I could barely get a look at you. Oh, I saw you plenty of times in the light, but never when our bodies were moving together, beating as one, and never when my lips wrapped through yours, making haunting circles of kisses.

No, we were so very proper at day. Little touches here and there, your arm about me as we walked, but nothing that made my heart beat fast like the things we did in the dark.

I loved the light of morning those couple of times we still lay naked by then. I loved to look at your hands and your lips. They attracted me in so many ways. I think I decided to try this affair the night we sat in that restaurant, surrounded by friends, the memory of your kiss some weeks ago still lingering with me, and all I could do was stare at the loveliness that was your mouth till I couldn't see anyone else, and the table grew quiet to my deaf ears, as I sat there immersed in your lips. And your lips and your hands made such words…

Now this affair is over and I try to think of what you looked like. Sometimes I can't do it. There are distinct little memories here and there, portraits in tiny vignettes. I picture your mouth from that night in that little restaurant. I can see the smile you gave me one night before I kissed you, and then darted around to see if anyone was looking. But all my memories are touch and sound, sounds emitted from touching and the feel of your hair in my hands. I wake in the dark humming hours of the night and see your ghost still in my memory, no brighter through the darkness than you had ever been in my life, peered at always through layers and layers of night. I try to connect those sounds and those feelings with my visions of you by day. But our love was one lived in darkness. And that is how it shall stay in my memory.

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