A Dry Love and an Ordinary Gesture Pair Well
On knowing cats and sisters and on them knowing me
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I fell asleep before my sister got home last night. I was waiting up for her but she was far away, on the Upper West Side, and I was in Brooklyn falling asleep so she told me to sleep. I didn’t hear her come in. Our front door slams heavy and it hadn’t woken me, but her presence did. Through the haze of my dreamless state and the deep blue of our apartment at night, her silhouette appeared outside my door. Quietly, so I cannot say precisely what woke me besides maybe the knowing my sister was there, she walked into my room, feet dragging with the day that for me had already passed, and slipped her arms around me. I love hugging her. I love when she hugs me. I returned the gesture, lazily, arms heavy and lethargic, wrapping them as much as I could around her cold body. I had told her that day while I was out that by night it would be cold so she had borrowed my good jacket. She murmured something into my ear. I had one foot in a dream still, to which I was already abandoning her for, knowing that she was safe and back with me, in an apartment that was warm.
She let go and I listened to her move down the hall into her room.
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