I will be with you when you lose your breath

I didn't wait. I couldn't. K was awake again this morning when I came downstairs. He was dressed and showered and drinking coffee at the kitchen table at quarter to seven. Why do you get up so early when you don't have to? I asked him. Why do you. he said. No question mark. His voice goes down at the end of every sentence, even questions.

I can't sleep. Don't know why. I used to be good at sleeping, but suddenly this conversation seemed too personal to be having with this man I hardly know. Maybe the reasons I can't sleep aren't personal, but maybe they are. Sometimes I can't tell until it's too late. The same applies when asking questions; sometimes I can't tell if I'm asking something personal or not. I decided to stop the sleep questions and go after the watch, which was what I really wanted to know.

Why don't you wear your watch in the house? I said.

He looked up from his coffee cup and I suddenly felt self-conscious about being in my pajamas. There was a long pause during which I could almost hear his watch on the table by the front door ticking out the awkward silence. He didn't answer. Instead he said, I made coffee.



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