You Are Thinking of Him

You’re reading a book now that he recommended.  You use the tip of your thumb to hold your place as you gaze at a corner of the ceiling and thump the spine of the book on the arm of your easy-chair.  He won’t have thought of that particular angle on that passage, and you are formulating your thoughts into sentences which you imagine him listening to with a serious nod, the palm of his hand resting firmly on the library counter, the top three buttons of his knit shirt open so that you can see the contour of his neck and upper ribs.  He thumps his hip against the side of the counter, like the book spine against the chair arm.  But really he might have thought of it, you think.  Your gaze shifts along the darkened crevice of where the ceiling meets the wall and you have the urge to run your finger along it.  You try to read again, but the echo of your ill-formed sentences does not allow it.  He is bumping his hip against the counter. Continue reading You Are Thinking of Him