In the heat.

A Story by Coco

As we lay there, touching but not, the weight of his hand felt offensive, burdensome. It bore down with the heaviness of all that we carry between us - baggage, children, jobs, expectations - all concentrated on several square inches of my hip and thigh.

Inside my chest a bird flapped frantically, her feathers scattering beneath my skin. They burned and roiled and screamed for release. Had I been able to escape my transient physical self, I would have.

Flee.

That single word on repeat as the frightened bird scurried and the weight of his hand crushed me.

The heat of the summer night pressed down, bringing the proximity of our bodies into focus. Without the heat it would have been impossible to to determine if we occupied the same space, so deep was the chasm. He on his side, steadily withdrawing. Me on mine, steadily making my escape. Limbs overlapped but the intimacy, such as it was, did not register as the silent, summer-drenched darkness pressed his hot, resistant hand further against my feather whipped, frantic skin.

Minutes? Hours? Lying together-apart, falling into the abyss.

Tomorrow the sun would rise against sleep deprived eyes and we would be forced to recognize each other, our closeness, in the growing light. The bird will have taken her final flight and his hands will pass gingerly across the soft expanse of my back.

Tomorrow we will try again.