The other morning, I woke to the feel of Skyspook’s arms, my own voice murmuring I loved him, his happy sighs, nuzzling each other, kissing. Our bodies were intertwined, a single flat sheet wrapped around us.
Neither of us knows who started it, who woke the other up. Whoever initiated the affection was surely asleep when it happened.
And it doesn’t really matter.
Good, bad, or indifferent, it doesn’t really make any sense to be keeping score.