Two Lucky

Every last night I spend with Rusty is surprisingly difficult. You would think that after six months of coming and going, we would fall into a habit. Tonight, as he sleeps, I sit up and hold his hand in mine. His fingers are longer, obviously, but his nails seem abnormally large to me.

It is quite a beautiful night, actually. Our bed is right by the window, which, stretching across the length of the wall, and only a few feet from the wood-panelled floor, provides a spectacular view.

With the exception of one or two tall buildings, the deep-purple night is brushed with thick trees that frame the streets below us. Mountains push up in peaks and dips in the background. A lonely Korean palace sits in the centre, quiet and regal. In the wee hours of the morning, it almost looks like a painting.

In the moonlight, Rusty’s skin seems to glow, even though I know it is pale from all the chemotherapy. There is a forgotten lash near his right eye. His bald head is like an infant’s. Not wanting to wake him, I resist the urge to stroke it. I do not know how long I stay like this, sitting next to him, watching him, watching the window. But soon, I fall asleep too.

This entry was posted on Monday, July 31st, 2006 at 2:40 pm and is filed under Couplehood, Seoul. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.