In Transit

It's a cold and grey Tuesday afternoon and Will is lying on the couch asleep with his head on my thigh, puffing slightly on each exhale as he does when he's dreaming. His hair is getting longer, which pleases me, so he's taken to wearing a black Yankees cap to hide the poofiness, which does not please me. If only he could see how romantic he looks with his curls. But I'm patient and understanding as it took me twenty years to embrace my own head of crazy kinks and twisty tendrils.

I want to get up and get the day started, we went to bed so late it was early, but I'm scared to start this day even though I know I must. Scared because we're two days into homelessness and shacking up on my friend's living room couch. Scared because the place I've found may fall through and then what? Scared that this moment, with him lying peacefully on my lap, won't last if we can't find a space of our own.