4:43 a.m. the towel hanging on the headboard falls across my face and I know this was planned. Whether last night or this morning, I don’t care. I let it lay there, breathe in the Fels Naptha soap – stiff, strong like the whiskey I drank eleven years ago. I couldn’t move then. I don’t move now. But you do, ever so slowly.

first published in Love Manifesto Issue 1