Lily Pang

Lily Pang

They were two people together. They said she was pretty and he was hansom. To each other they were each other. They slept in the same bed and he didn’t know where to put his left hand when it wasn’t under her neck, brushing the hair away behind her ear. His right hand ran across her stomach, cupping her hip. She always slept well when she could feel his breath on her, cadenced by lullabilic lips. She was burning, he would say, “an electric blanket.” When they first met she thought about her moist hands more than his touch. He liked that he made her nervous. She loved him. He flirted with other people. She didn’t think she did. He saw her do it.. He knew he did it too. She worked all the time. He thought she was too busy. She thought he was lazy. He worked all the time. Back in bed they slept well, but he didn’t get much rest. He watched the clock. He didn’t know why. His left hand on her stomach. She would catch him lying with his eyes open. She knew he didn’t like her. He was in love. He drank too much. He drank too much. She hated him and loved him more. He couldn’t live without her. Her arm found an empty bed more. She missed him. He slept alone, too ashamed to sleep. Too ashamed to sleep with her. He was drinking too much. She wished he was closer. He was too ashamed. Neither got much rest. Friends spoke. The gap widened. He stopped drinking. She didn’t miss him. He couldn’t live with himself. He needed her. They spoke. She cried. He smiled. A month passed. She watched hers while he slept at home. He didn’t have a clock. Her space to stretch was full of tears. Everything made her think of him. Food, TV, Music. He didn’t even think about where to put his left arm. It was free. In time her tears dried. She spoke more about herself. He spoke less about himself. She became stronger. He became weaker. He was in Love. He was sure. He loved her, she did too. They spoke again. He cried. She smiled. Friends spoke in black and white. Only two can speak in colour. The gap closed. Love isn’t this and it isn’t that. Love is growth. The one is him. The one is her. The one is you. The one in a million is a million ones.


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