I remember Florencia dressing that morning. I was still in bed, propped up on the pillows, ostensibly reading a book. Moments earlier we were as intimate as two people could be, utterly entangled in mind, body and soul.
Though even then, as I watched her brush out her hair and slither into her pantyhose, I knew she was a separate person, already engaged in the coming day, where she would live apart from me, as her full self, focused and absorbed in her work. I would have plenty to absorb me as well, but never drifting far from that bedroom, and that instant in time. Physically, I’d be one floor below, in the den, at the oaken desk Florencia had given me for Christmas. My mind, at the behest of my clients, would be traversing the earth in search of hidden information—that part of my mind that wasn’t lingering with recollections of the morning, the smells and feel of skin-on-skin, the transcendent lightness of unrestrained adoration.
--written by Chris Knopf
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