These morning cigarettes lend so much clarity, it hurts. When only quiet fills the void, every little thing you hide comes out to play.
I know what we have is different, that his love for me is in a language that escapes words. He looks at me and sees me. He kisses me and I’m home. He holds me until the early morning. And though I often wake up without him, that doesn’t mean he loves me any less.
I know he doesn’t need to say it. But every now and then, I can’t help but wish that he would.
This and other 100-word stories in Project 0.1.
♫: Carole King | Will You Love Me Tomorrow? (1971)