Blue moved in a few months ago.

More accurately, he came to visit one day and never left. I’ve just never gotten around to taking him home, and he’s never asked me to. Blue is my companion in loneliness, an island neither of us is quite ready to leave. Our ghosts rattle loudest at night, so we’ve fallen into the habit of sleeping together, curled up against each other like shipwrecked children.

I’m in that in-between place, not quite asleep, but not awake either, when I feel his hand move up my thigh. I roll towards him, finding his lips waiting for me in the dark. We’ve kissed before, but only for the sake of kissing, this feels different. Hands search, clasp, unclasp, wander, return. I let him pull my top off. I tangle in the sleeves, he runs his hands down my sides as I pull the shirt over my head.  Continue reading

We’re always online, our respective divorces have left us sleepless and unanchored.

Blue tells me I should come over. He says we’ll just hold each other as long as we need to, nothing more. He says he once drove across two provinces just for a hug. We found each other on a dating site. I’m not as wary as I should be about people on the internet. I google the directions then tell the ex I’m leaving for awhile so he needs to walk the dog. He’s on the phone with his new girlfriend again, so he makes some generic gesture that could either mean “I heard you” or “go away and fuck off.” I’m stuck living with him until I can afford my own place.

I drive to an unfamiliar suburb where the houses all have wide perfect green lawns. I follow the map to a condo community that sports a fake nautical theme, even though it’s fifty miles to the nearest lake. I find the right condo and knock on the door. Blue is pale and gaunt, all angles and edges, different from his online photo. He says that divorce will do that to you. I know that because I’m all angles and edges now too. We sit on the front steps of the condo and nervously pass a cigarette back and forth, careful to avoid touching hands.

We know a lot about each other, but there is an awkwardness between us here in the physical world. We both try to go through the front door at the same time, bumping shoulders.  He makes me a cup of peppermint green tea and we sit at a little cluttered kitchen table. He talks very fast and flips over tarot cards, avoiding eye contact. I look around at the spare furnishings left in the condo. Boxes are stacked in the corner, most of the floor is covered in paint speckled plastic sheets. It’s his grandmother’s condo, he had already explained to me, she fell and had to go to a nursing home, so he’s renovating it to sell. Continue reading