war
We go to a hotel room in the city, not as a form of celebration, just for the release of being somewhere besides home. We’ve both been coiled too tight. August always has a way of putting me on edge, even in the best of circumstances, with it’s oppressive heat and constant humidity.
After dinner and drinks we return to our room. He sits opposite me at the foot of the bed, a deck of cards between us, playing a game of War that grows progressively sloppier and more frenetic. There is a card in the deck that says the following:
French will four species sun understanding for species, and square, and clove leaves and hearts; Germans put four species suit understanding four leaves, and Bell, and oak fruit and hearts; Italy people will four species suit understanding for sword, and coins and crutches and glass; Switzerland people will four species suit understanding for oak fruit, and bell, and flowers and sheild; British is will four species suit understanding for shovel, and diamond, and clover and hearts.
I read this aloud and we both erupt into laughter. We laugh until the words make sense, and then laugh until they cease to make sense once more. He always makes my drinks too strong; my edges begin to blur.
There is a way he gets, it’s one of the things that everyone loves about him, where suddenly he fills the room. He is the atmosphere, the everything. It’s always been that way - I contract while he expands. It’s a dynamic that works for us.
All rational thought gone, only he remains.
Afterwards he leans down and yells against my bare stomach. I fucking love you.
It is the last thing I remember until morning.
5:22 p.m. - 2023-07-10