Oleg
I don’t get out of bed other than to eat a little the next day. Or the day after.
Not even on the third day.
I can’t face what I lost. I had Story. She was mine for two short weeks. She let me hold her. Make love to her. Bring her home.
She was going to move in with me. For the first time in years, I had a reason to get up in the morning. Things felt possible again. I was willing to stretch myself. Start interacting with my environment. Join the living.
There was such a lightness around me. I didn’t hate my body for betraying me. I found new ways to communicate. But most importantly, I got to be around Story. My obsession. I had her to myself—all her minutes. All her hours. She sang and played her guitar in my bed. Stood in my shower. Let me love her.
Loved me back.
She said so
