Every "I Love You" (A Fragment)

For some time every "I love you" she uttered was like turning her ass toward an angry dog, offering it that fleshy but, in terms of potential trauma, inconsequential portion of her anatomy. Offering it, that is, while rolling up the magazine with which she planned shortly to wear the animal out. A feint, in other words. . .

For some time every "I love you" he uttered was accompanied by kisses, which he placed on the nape of her neck with all the delicacy of a pointillist. Placed, that is, much like his hand upon her hip every night as he listened to her breath fall softly into the cadence of sleep, and he lay there as if in a mist of her exhalations, grateful -- grateful to God (whom he had only just begun to believe in again) -- to have her by his side when the bad dreams came. And they always came. . .