he liked to lay in bed at night  after they made love  or after they worked hours apart in separate rooms on their art and she finally finally conceded she was tired  then he would come to bed and rub her legs her back  he softly rubbed her butt telling her a story  shed quiet and he listened to her consciousness getup to leave and sleep scramble onto the bed relieving her of her day its mischief and skillfully effortlessly lay paint on her dreams

he heard everything in her breath

relationships respired too

he was convinced 

the breaths of relationships were their goodmornings their goodnights were found in their simple touches caresses gentle kisses sighed in their Iloveyou Imissyou

sometimes there were reasons why he couldnt hear their relation breathe 

separation was the most obvious

they used to write letters  breathe

they used to hold hands  breathless

they used to call to say goodnight when they were apart

they used to cheat surreptitiously send text while workingbreaking their work ethic tho satisfying their sudden pangs

it was wonderful to open a message and see I miss you something fierce I was thinking of you and forgot what I was supposed to be doing The sun doesnt warm me like you do You ran across my mind and left footprints

and it was awful when the texts became fewer  and   fewer

breaths fewer  and   fewer

he could hear its wheezing hear insincere breaths from up high in the chest  up high and far away from the heart

then he convinced himself otherwise

inveterate optimists are made that way

                             that way that It aint over until the fat lady sings

weemorninghours,  Saturday,  14  1. 17

Chicago  Rediscovery  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CxfUzRh7E2o