Published in Cutthroat, a Journal of the Arts


I am the worst kind of lonely at night. My boyfriend Derek is sound asleep to my right, and I know I should let everything go and allow myself to fall into his arms. He’s already made a permanent body impression in my mattress; the smell of his shampoo can’t be washed out of my sheets. His sweaters and jeans take up the void in my closet, the other half I wouldn’t know what to do with anyway, so at least it’s one thing less to think about. He cooks for me and reminds me to eat, get my legs moving. I try to wear the right smile when I see him at the end of the day, so he doesn’t ask me what I’m thinking anymore.

Read the full story here (PDF – on page 98)