there are moments

at 5am we laid together and talked about dreams instead of sleeping. i was just grateful to have your skin pressed against mine again, and listen to your low drawl, so gentle, that voice only comes out when we talk in the dark— we don’t need to see each other, only to listen. you told me your last vivid dream was about the day you decided to kill yourself, and nothing could stop you, in the dream i mean, and i wonder if i’m the only person you feel comfortable saying this to. or maybe it wasn’t even about me, just the darkness, cool and open, coaxing out our secrets. we are not perfect for each other by any means. at the worst of times i find you to be a terrible bore or i get fidgety. it takes concentrated effort (or whiskey) to say what i’m really thinking. but there are moments.