In the summer heat of that stuffy small room and that tiny single bed we cuddled and we laughed.
“I like it when you make me laugh” I said.
“I like making you laugh” you replied.
I remember what it was that I found so funny. I remember submitting to the heat, our skin sticky, our eyelids heavy. We napped.
The months have dwindled to days. Summer is soon upon us. Our meeting seems strange and far away. I wonder if we’ll laugh again.
I suppose not. I suppose that’s okay.