It’s an Amos and Marco thing.
The night deepens around us, air cooling as the hour passes.
Eyes growing heavy, we tug the blanket to our chins.
I fight to stay awake, memorising the river of constellations above me.
Now they flow across my arm in ink, at least for a few days.
The detail in each pen stroke is stunning.
My sleepy darling is talented.
Breath slowing, I drift in and out of consciousness.
A small vibration ripples inside the satchel next to our bed.
A phone reminder.
“Must be midnight,” he says. “Happy birthday, my love.”
the twenty eighth chapter
AMOS
Iwake in the dark.
A paper thin moon makes its slow descent.
I notice that the canopy of stars above us has begun to fade.
But I’ve captured it in ink. With one arm still outstretched, Marco sleeps.
A gentle warble threads through the trees.
Bet he’d know what kind of bird that is.
Curved against my body, he lays on his side.
The warmth of his back and hips is familiar and comforting.
This sleepy face I wake to most mornings, looks softer in the wild.
Leaning down to kiss the back of his neck, I pause, then choose to wait.
Let him rest, I decide.He needs sleep.
Who knows what this day will bring?
It crushes me that he often came to this river when he was lonely.
I ease the blanket higher to cover his shoulders.
You’re not alone anymore, I tell him.I’m right here.
And knowing that he loves me out loud, even though I could already feel it?
I can’t help but smile as I let the night take me again.
