His back has become my canvas.
You can tell when he's very tired, because he sleeps on his stomach. I only learned this when he started spending time at my house when we had days off. I'll admit, I can't help but watch him when he sleeps. That's not very surprising considering how much time we spend in bed, whether it's watching Desperate Housewives or getting to know each other a little better. Anyway, I had been sitting wide awake with my journal open. Somehow while I was scribbling little pictures in the margins, my marker went from the paper to his skin.
He didn't move an inch.
The way the ink glides across his skin is the most fascinating part, but I can fully appreciate sitting back and seeing what I created. Most of the time it's abstract. I like drawing lines that take twists and turns. It's like a metaphor for our lives. I have gotten creative though. Once I drew a man in a boat fishing for a mermaid. Another time I drew a unicorn. I just want him to wake up one day and see ballerina dancing across his back. I'm lying. I just want his reaction.
Sometimes it's therapeutic.
When Carlito gets angry he gets stupid. It's ridiculous, but you can't unteach a man. He yells at anything he sees whether it's walls, referees or small children crossing the street. It's hard to remember but I just have to remind myself that I love his faults more than any other quality. Besides, how many times do I have to say that he means well? He really does.
He can't hear me when he's sleeping. Maybe somewhere in his dreams there's a woman, hopefully me, drawing on his back. If that is the case he doesn't express it. Lying on his stomach, he doesn't react. I can shout anything with the marker in my hand. I can tell him that I'm not leaving him, with a kiss that leaves pink lipstick. I can sum up our relationship in words. Wrath. Envy. Pride. Gluttony. Lust. Sloth. Greed. I can recite poetry without fearing that he'll think I'm stupid for believing in a handful of words. And when I write, "Trish loves Carlito", hearts and all, I can remind him that we're allowed to have fun. We can leave our stress and anger in the squared circle.
Tonight, my message is simple: love is only sleeping.
Morning already? Sleeping was probably a better idea than staying up all night drawing and writing. Oh well, at least her boyfriend, for lack of a better word, was excruciatingly nice to her. When Trish woke up she was in the middle of her bed, no sign of Carlito anywhere. By the time she had showered, dried her hair, and walked out of the bathroom, the scent of coffee was inescapable.
Coffee was a good enough reason for Trish to walk down the stairs with a smile. Actually, there really wasn't a reason for her to feel bad at all. It was almost scary how well things were going. "For me? Why thank you." She said as she pulled a coffee mug down from the cupboard.
This was all she needed.
Normal.