or maybe i'm just growing

for the first time in months, i saw him in nothing but a pair of boxers. i had no idea how skinny he'd gotten. his legs are like twigs made of gelatin. his shoulders...his arms...his chest...

the word frail is so cliche yet i can't think of another. defeated, maybe. his voice has grown hoarse, stuck in a constant state of murmur.

it is nearly 4 am. he lies before me on the couch, not sleeping, really, but not talking, either. i am keeping him company as i pound the keyboard. every so often, he asks a question. i answer pleasantly. try to make conversation until he nods off again.

no one in this house sleeps. she went to bed, or tried. then he came down for a drink a half hour later, half nude, dressed only in naked reality.

he seemed shorter, somehow. or maybe i'm just growing. hey, a girl can hope, right?