This morning I came home after sleeping in the poet's office, by myself. We had a pretty amazing day together yesterday and then with his family a bit, and inevitably got quite drunk in the evening. I didn't have the keys to my grandmother's, so he put me to bed on the office sofa above his theater. Then he exhaustedly went home. I wandered around their place for a little while, pretty luxuriously just in my bra and underwear, turning the lights on and off and looking into each room. Then I had myself a little cry and went to bed.
It was cool and gray on my way home, and I wrote him an email when I got in, assuring him that I'd put the keys in their proper place and thanking him for everything. It was easy to be casual and happy in it, lots of jokes and plus signs and exclamation marks. But then I found myself wishing him a good year, and signing my name, and it was all I could do keep myself from writing
Ps. I love you.
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