December 31, 2007

If I had to describe how it is, I have one night that does - all of it to perfection: feeling small in glass and steel, chinky-eyed girls and funny English, and fireworks outside, and inside, and watching his hands and lips and eyes as he talks and I smooth over my goosebumps and hide behind cushions and a quivering lip that no hugs, no biting down would still and a shower and a quiet, warm sunrise and a namaz on a towel on a balcony and a naashta with too much blueberry goo on my knife and hands and three cups of weak Twinings breakfast tea and a breeze in my crazy hair and a hand in my hand as I sway in the elevator, can't stand still in the room and I laugh and laugh and laugh and he laughs along, I think he watches and laughs uncomprehending, 8 a.m. and we fall asleep on the other bed arms and mumbles and wakeup calls and newness.