Soft places

It's the things I can't explain that have always kept me me going on and on, like those moments when I lose self-consciousness and feel more like an animal than anything else. Explanations are boring, explanations are death, sweeping the crumbs off a table at the end of a meal. You make a home in another person. You look for shoulders to wrap your arms around, a curve of a neck to bury your face into. For every question ever asked there is one answer who is lying there in the morning when you wake up, opening his sleepy eyes. Conversation muddled with sleep deprivation feels like a long embrace that is frequently interrupted but never ending.