I think these words--these words I'll never say--as I trace slow circles across your arm. You moan softly in your sleep. I bet she doesn't lie awake to watch. From what you've told me, and what I've guessed, she falls asleep hours before you do every night. She's selfish, and she doesn't deserve you. If she loved you, you'd be home by now.

My fingers slide down your arm to your waist, where they find your sinewy thigh. I caress your leg gently. You would never lie awake to watch me sleep. My skin bathed in moonlight isn't worth the audience. You need your sleep and, if I want you to come back, I'll just have to accept that. You're right--besides that, I don't deserve you. If I did, this would be your home by now.

Breath ragged, desperate, needy, I push my hand against your lap. I cup your cock and gingerly squeeze. She never tells you how she cares for you, how much she loves you. From what you've told me, and what I've guessed, she ignores you when you're home, and bitches at you when you're not. She's cold, and she doesn't deserve you. If she loved you, you'd be home by now.

My hands search for a response from your body. I push my breasts against your back. This isn't about love, you say. In the evening hours we rendezvous at seedy motels and dingy bars. I still remember the night you bought me dinner; when you told me I was a goddess. I needed someone so badly and you made me feel so wanted. You can be so warm (although you rarely are), and I don't deserve you. If I did, this would surely be your home by now.

The red-lit numbers on the far wall tell me I've seven minutes until you shower and dress. You'll toss me aside with less passion than you did my lingerie the night before. What if I ripped the alarm clock from its socket, the way my heart is ripped from my chest every time you leave? What if I held you in my arms and refused to let go? Maybe this is not your home, but hers isn't either. The two of you might have children, or history, or maybe even friendship. But it's my bed you come in. It's my body you come to. Why is it so easy for you to lie to her and say you love her? Why is it so easy for you to lie to me and say you don't love me? I think these words--these words I'll never say--every time we lie together like this, before you leave me for the one you claim to love. But I know: if you loved her, you'd be home by now.

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