A tall glass vase of marigolds, daisies and hydrangeas. She set them on the windowsill in the kitchen so they could get light. It’s strange to me, seeing such beauty in my dark, dreary loft. There isn’t much softness in my life. There isn’t much light. My world is all concrete walls reinforced by steel beams. But when she comes around, she brings the sun and the moon with her. We’ve had lunch together almost every day for the past three weeks and after work, she comes home with me most nights and sleeps next to me in my bed. I’m not the kind of person who shares myself easily, but I’ve told her every secret I have and she’s let me in on her most private thoughts and fears. It’s the most beautiful form of torture, having her so close but having to keep my hands to myself. Tonight, we came to my loft straight from the office. She asked to borrow something to wear while she cooks us dinner; she didn’t want to soil her business suit.
