“And then there’s the sickness I feel from looking at your legs I can’t touch, or those lips that don’t smile at me. Or hips that don’t reach for me. And your heart that doesn’t beat for me.”

I looked at him with the cold glance, unable to grasp the vitality of his existence, still lost in a land that is now far and foreign to me.

The phone rang last night.

“Hello”

“I love you”

“I’m sorry”

“Me too.”