And then I reach down and scoop her up and her eyes go to full Bambi. Thank god. I love her in my arms, how she folds up into them, how she fits. My body grew up carrying her; she slots into the grooves of me, how many people can you say that about? No one but her and still I don’t know how to tell her I love her back. What if she changes her mind? What if she fucks off again? She said last time that she was in and that that was it and she still left me anyway — her word’s no good now. She goes a bit limp in my arms and I wonder how it is that I’ve carried her twice in the last few weeks and
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