And I turn my body to face my ear away from the noises he emits, accidentally waking him in my movements.

He turns, presses his naked body against my own. He mumbles something in my ear, "I will always be here for you." Moments later he is asleep and snoring again.

The light from the street paints itself as horizontal bars against his ceiling. The cat pads her way next to the bed on the side which I am facing. She looks up at me, pauses, and then slinks back out of the room.

The warm grey that wraps everything like soft felt at that particular hour of night can be inhaled more deeply than the bright orange cellophane wrapping of the morning. So I succomb, close my eyes, and imagine myself inhaling the almost-darkness. I feel my chest rise and fall. Triumphant and defeated. Triumph and defeat. Triumph and defeat.

When I awake in the morning, he is sitting with his back to me at the bottom of the bed. He is wearing a crisp white dress shirt, an orange and blue tie, slacks the color of four in the morning, and he is pulling black cotton socks over his feet.

He feels me stir. He glances behind him cautiously as though if he were to look too suddenly or obviously it might awake me from the sleep I am possibly still engulfed in.

He smiles, climbs over to me from across the bed. I am still naked, and this feels vulnerable and cold and I do not like it. He gives me small kisses on my face, I hope he does not do this for much longer because it might wake me up and I am still thinking about sinking back into rest.

Finally he leaves. I lie awake staring at the new shade of his ceiling. I get out of bed, pick the condom wrappers up from the floor, adjust the bedding, replace the pillows, carry his dirty laundry to his hamper, pick up the used cups, empty out the ashtray, and then brush my teeth with his toothbrush (which he does not mind me doing, though I would mind if it were mine.)

Finally, I get dressed. It is almost fall, and I can feel it in my bones and the cloudiness inside of my head.

I exit to daylight. To the slight nip of the air and the salmon pink cheeks of strangers. As I focus on the chilled breath of the season at my ankles and just below my thin sweater, my mind retracts to the hope that perhaps, if I am lucky, he will call me again soon.