Some nights, I would climb on top of him as he was reading, holding him so tight he would gasp. Wishing we could meld together, that I could crawl under his skin and stay there. “What is it?” he’d ask, but I couldn’t speak, devastated that I would never get close enough to him, that there would always be the skin, the bones, the substance of flesh between us. We would never be one body, there would always be this fear of us breaking into two.
