he’s resting his head on my shoulder and I don’t know how to ******* breathe. this motion said so much, I think. cause yeah, I had rested my head on his shoulder hundreds of times and I had burrowed my head into his neck and sat on his lap and slept on his chest. but in this taxi, going down and down 43rd, 42nd, 41st it was different. his eyes were tired. the lights outside illuminated the right side of his face and reminded me that there was a world that existed outside of the backseat of this taxi cab. it felt like time had froze just for the two of us, like no human interaction had ever been as significant as this and the taxi driver, the people on the sidewalks outside, the city of new york, the entire universe had to stop to see this. he was fading in and out of a minute sleep and we equally reeked of the 6 train and pistachio brulee and I was so tired and so dazed that in that moment I told myself that I loved him. no doubt. I didn’t even have to think about it. the love was this low hum that always followed you everywhere. it was the kind that sometimes got annoying and left you wondering where the hell it even came from. but it was also the kind that lulled you to sleep at night and when it needed to, it picked and prodded at you to remind you it was still there. -sk

to both me and the universe he seemed ubiquitous.  i could never tell if that was a good thing.