Side by side on a bed. Laughing and teasing. Talking more than we did in ages. It is intimate, at least it is for me. Now, I can feel it — suddenly. I avoid touches, avoid glances. I'm here and I'm not. She likes it that way, I can tell. Yet I can't tell if that's all she wants. If I knew, if I only knew!
What? What would I do? Would I passionately make love to her tonight only to ignore her in the nights to come? Would I promise — myself, of course — that it'll all be different — only to find out it wouldn't? 'Cos it so bloody difficult to change. To change me.
Hence Beethoven instead. Again.
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