I wanted, not specifically or with any discernable plan for doing so, to make you very happy. I thought that little joys, or well-placed hands and kisses when you weren’t expecting them, would hint at a larger lake of genuine feeling which I kept unsullied for the day I could just dunk the shit out of you in it and maybe splash some of it in your face. Falling asleep with your greasy hair that smelled like a Frito Lay snack chip bag against the skin of my face was not an inconvenience but a privilege. I took more joy in your joy that I could finish the Sunday NYT crossword puzzle than I did in finishing it. I had an 8.5x2x4” cardboard shipping box where I would dump my spare change and any bills smaller than a ten at the end of every day (I kept it hidden on the shelf in the closet you couldn’t reach). That was the only way I could think of to save up for a ring where you wouldn’t notice. Plus at that pace I figured it would take a couple years, which sounded just about right.
I just spent the last of it on laundry two days ago.
The towels I was drying were new, and got blue lint all over everything.
