“yesterday, n.You called to ask me when I was coming home, and when I reminded you that I wasn't coming home, you sounded so dissapointed that I decided to come home.”

“ taciturn, adj. There are days you come home silent. You say words, but you're still silent. I used to bombard you with conversational crowbars, but now I simply let the apartment fall mute. I hear you in the room -- turning on music, typing on the keys, getting up for a drink, shifting in your chair. I try to have my conversation with those sounds.”

“I would always wait to take you home.”

“Do you know when you cross against traffic? You look down the street and see a car coming, but you know you can get across before it gets to you. So even though there’s a DON’T WALK sign, you cross anyway. And there’s always a split second when you turn and see that car coming, and you know that if you don’t continue moving, it will all be over. That’s how I feel a lot of the time. I know I’ll make it across. I always make it across. But the car is always there, and I always stop to watch it coming.”

“you ask me what I'm looking for, and I outline you.you don't recognize the shape, offer other names.you say my time will come, and I hope.”

“finances, n.You wanted to keep the list on the refrigerator."No," I said. "That's too public."What I meant was: Aren't you embarrassed by how much you owe me?”

“hubris, n.Every time I call you mine, I feel like I'm forcing it, as if saying it can make it so. As if I'm reminding you, and reminding the universe: mine. As if that one word from me could have that kind of power.”