It forces you to assess, a day at a time, risks versus benefits. The effort wears you out in ways that cannot be judged attractive. I can feel our couplehood eroding, as though we are standing on a bank that's becoming saturated, our footing steadily growing less stable. The question is dramatically beside the point. Always, eventually, it ends up empty.
Moonlight seeps in around the window shades.
She's just coming to bed, but she overshoots her mark and ends up near the closet, in a corner. But, of course, that's only part of the problem. She's unable to crack the maze of the dark room. I hear her bumping gently against a wall-mounted mirror. Her white T-shirt catches the little light of the night.