A Conversation in the Night.

He was in my bed, and too tall for it really. But without him or some body, it always felt empty. Maybe that was only me. As I laid my head on his stomach, he moved his fingers from one side of my scalp to the other. We named this gesture “the rake” and I’ve never not wanted such sensation in my head. With a turned face, I’ve lied like this for hours without sleeping. It’s never made me tired either; how little we sometimes speak. Not needing to make an effort to entertain was enjoyable, relieving. Four nights in a row now, I’ve watched the sky become ruby at four. And always wonder whether he likes it better blue. I can’t imagine he could.

“Would you say you’re always traveling or leaving?”
“Neither. I’m just often in the air.”
“What do you like better coming or going?”
“Commm.” And we laughed and I tried to bite the stomach he doesn’t have.
“You think it’s easy to know someone?”
“Ignoring intuition, never. But I think it’s easy to know whether you like someone.”
“To decide whether you like?”
“Right.”
“That isn’t too fair.”
“Nothing right off the bat is fair.”
“Yeah, yeah. It is what it is.”
“No. It’s how it is.”
“Blue or green?”
“Green.”
“Sailing or cruising?”
“Sailing.”
“Red fish or swordfish?”
“Red.”
“Godard or Antonioni?“
“Antonioni.”
“Antonioni or Bergman?”
“Bergman.”
“Freud or your father?”
“Both, together, at the same time.”
"To be or not to be."
"That isn't a question."
“If you could change anything about me.”
“What?”
“What would it be?”
“Your eyes. I like light eyes, but I don’t like them light.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Teaches you not to ask superficial questions.”
“Fine. But really, my eyes, you don’t like them?”
“What about me?”
“I love yours.”
“But what would you change?”
“What you consider home.”
“Ruby or blue?”