Shadows fell on the wall next to our bed. His arms. My elbows. The brief and intermittent sighs that lovers make filled the room. The pale, yellowing light in the window looked gold. His eyes stayed shut. After a while, I shut mine too, and let his breath pulse again against my neck and wait for the heater to kick back on.
Subway MapSubway Philosophy is about New York, culture, sex, publishing, memories, alcohol, or a combination of the above. Originally taken from drunken musings on the subway, it has evolved into something extraordinarily similar to most young blogs: which is to say, redundant, romantic, and woefully introspective.
Current Subway ReadingWhite Teeth